Shadows on the Snow
by Bill-the-Pony
Summary: *Completed* Two months after the events in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild.
1. Off Again

-Shadows on the Snow-

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (future planned violence…maybe)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing. I'm relying on the observation from both book and movie that as in the last one, Imladris is almost held in an eternal autumn. That is why it is only just now fading, and for one it started so early as seen in Rising Storm. I actually made this observation before PJ or whoever said it in the Extended Edition DVD. I'm so pleased with myself. 'Nuff babbling.

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Shadows on the Snow

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Part 1

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Imladris was a bustle of activity. With the coming of the last vestiges of fall, came both hunting and the preparation for cold nights and roaring fires. This year the gathering began early as it was foreseen that this winter would be one of special weight and length. It was also a regular habit that those living around the borders of the elven refuge often found shelter in the strength and security of Rivendell. 

Two months time had passed since the return of Legolas and Aragorn, and with them the little known wizard Fasse, from Dunland. Their return brought long days of laughter and singing. Four days had passed before Gandalf had called Fasse away with him to attend the conjuring of the White Council. For a short time, Elrond was also called away as his presence had been requested in this meeting, leaving his second most steward in his place. With them had also gone, Legolas, whom had most regretfully been called back to Mirkwood for official matters.

This left the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, along with Aragorn. The house had remained quiet even after Elrond had returned a few days later. "You do not seem to function when one of you is missing," the elven lord and observed. "Without an even number, you limp together as a dog with only three legs." 

The weeks had passed in mal-mood. Then there had come tidings from Legolas that he had escorted Fasse back to Mirkwood for a short while until he himself could accompany the wizard back to Imladris. This had heightened the mood considerably in the household, much to Elrond's relief. Within ten days time, Legolas and Fasse were once again entering the doors of Rivendell. 

"I don't know why we still give you the guest room when really it is rightly yours," mused Aragorn as he accompanied Legolas to his regular quarters.

Legolas sighed happily as he breathed the fresh air of Imladris. "For the few weeks I was in Mirkwood I felt as if the life was being drawn from me." He placed his hands on the serpentine carved railing. "The forest has changed so much, as if a great haze of smoke has settled among the boughs." 

Aragorn could see plainly the grief that the slow death of Legolas's home was causing on his friend. Legolas had confessed as much of the pain. Unfortunately he had been at a loss of words for comfort. Instead he had stood with the elf for a good while until the sun had dipped behind the trees, talking of their adventure in Dunland as well as the goings on of both of their homes. It had seemed to help lighten the prince's mood. By the coming of the call to the evening meal, the lame dog was whole again. 

The meal had been interrupted by a loud bray. Oddly enough the elves seemed to look resigned and accustomed to this loud interruption. Gorban, the donkey of Dunland, had sauntered in glaring and snorting impatiently at Elrohir until the elf had scooted over to allow the creature room enough to eat from his stationed bowl of assorted fruits and greenery. Early on, Gorban had assumed his position at the right of the younger twin whether it be in hunting or simply about the lands. So in his stubborn donkey mind, Gorban had seen no reason why he should not be allowed at the dining table as well. Elrond himself had found out the strength of the will of the donkey when they had tried to remove Gorban from the room. And so it was that Gorban was now a regular at the meals. 

"I really cannot intrude on your routine any longer," Fasse said as he leaned back in his high-backed chair.

"Non-sense, you do not intrude on us, friend." Elrond assured. 

Fasse shook his head. "No, really. I think it is time I move on." The wizard fiddled with his bushy beard, nodding slowly. "Yes, yes, I need to find some place to settle down. One so hoary and brittle as myself can't go unsettled for long."

"You would be welcomed to call this your home. But I understand your desire. Tell us though where you would go?" 

Fasse thought for a moment, ignoring the eyes upon him. He seemed to be calculating something from the slow movement of his lips. "Perhaps Rohan as you so mentioned before. Maybe Gondor." He pursed his lips and paused. "What say you? Would Gondor look kindly on my presence in their lands?" 

Elrond smiled fondly at the diminutive Istar. "I am sure they would welcome you. But if you truly wish to leave, then you must start out promptly. Winter will show her garb all too soon," he warned. Seeing that all had had their fill, including Gorban, Elrond pushed his intricately carved chair back from the table and stood. "But if you must go then I insist that someone of this house escort you to your destination, wherever it may be."

Looking to Legolas first, Aragorn rose. "I would go with you, friend. I think it is time I stretch my legs again." He nodded to the wizard with respect. 

"And I as well. I would hate to think of you suffering alone with the dull company of this human." Legolas prodded with a straight face. 

Elrond cast upon the elf a doubtful look. "You have not consulted with your father about this. Do you not have duties of your own in Mirkwood?" Relations were yet strained between the realm of Thranduil and the house of Elrond. Unfortunately Legolas and Aragorn's friendship could only tear that gap further to strife if he was not careful. 

"Nay, I have seen to those duties and I would breathe the air of Middle-earth while it is still fresh." The elven prince met eyes with Elrond then as they both knew of the ever-darkening presence that was continuing to spread over the lands. 

Elladan looked ready to stand at Aragorn's side before Elrond turned his attention to him. "You however, my son, still have duties to attend to I cannot send a passel of princes and elvish nobles out into the wild at once." Elladan pressed his lips together in a thin line but nodded resignedly, submitting to his father's wishes. "Very well then, as much as I hate to see you three leave again, I must advise that you leave with all haste before the winter comes." 

Fasse moaned then, rolling his eyes pitifully. "Oh deary, deary, does this mean I will suffer the agony of riding upon the back of that wild beast again?" Aragorn nodded and laughed. "Oh, perhaps I should not have even said anything," the wizard sighed. 

The twins put aside their disappointment and Fasse his dread of riding upon a horse. For one more night, the halls were filled with merry singing and the telling of lore and tales. It was Legolas who excused himself first, followed shortly by Aragorn, then Elladan and Elrohir. It was Fasse and Elrond who remained awake into the early hours of the morning, speaking of the past, the present and the future as old friends on a winter's night. 

---

If there was such a thing as déjà vu then Elladan and Elrohir were experiencing it. It had seemed that only yesterday they were bidding farewell to both Legolas and Aragorn who were, as this time, off on what the twins saw to be just another adventure in which they were not included. The mature elven side of them though saw it for what it was as a potentially dangerous and tiring journey with rationed food and hard roots to sleep on. But the rational side was always so hard to agree with. 

Ralamir stood beside his grey companion Falmarin while, with the two elvish horses grazed Gorban. It had been a struggle for the donkey to decide with whom to go, if donkey's held any allegiances (as Gorban had quite strongly shown). It was a tug of grass bale between staying in Rivendell with Elrohir or going with Fasse to…wherever the wizard was going. Fasse had tried to talk the donkey into staying in Imladris, but this had only had the opposite effect. In Gorban's mind this caused him to reason that the wizard would probably need his brains more than the elf did, though at times, he had decided, the elf did as well need his far superior intelligence. But as much as a donkey could reason, he had been assured by the yellow haired elf that he needn't make any decisions yet and could simply come along as the pack-donkey again. 

A third horse was also being led to join the three. She was an older, but strongly built mare of a pale grey as her growing number of years had faded her lustrous black coat. Fasse had eyed her warily while the mare had fixed him with an unenthusiastic frown. "Fasse, this is Nienna. She has seen many years, but is strong of heart and body." Elrond smiled at a memory. He decided to leave the temper character out. Fasse failed to notice that even Ralamir and Falmarin, two full-blooded stallions, gave the mare more than enough birth in passing. 

"Do not dally or wait for anything. You are cutting it shorter than I would like. Stay in the lands of Rohan no longer than you must," Elrond warned. He watched Aragorn closely. Unknown to anyone else, Aragorn had confessed his trepidation at venturing into the lands of his heritage. "There has been both dark and light in your past, Estel," Elrond had said. "I understand your reluctance." Aragorn had bowed his head then, his hair hiding any expression that might have warred on his face. "Perhaps you will be spared." Aragorn had not known what his father had meant when he had said the latter, almost as an after thought. Many times, Elrond said things that he had yet to understand and had grown used to it. 

Aragorn swung up on Ralamir, nodding his understanding. "We'll return as soon as possible. I promise." With an impish grin to his twin brothers he spoke a word to Ralamir. Fasse wobbled, gripping the horn tightly as Legolas taking the mare's lead led the unseated wizard from the courtyard. Turning in his bareback seat upon Falmarin, Legolas waved farewell then disappeared around the archway. 

Elrond stood for a while after Glorfindel and the other elves of Rivendell had departed. Elrohir stood beside him, unsure of what to say or do. His father heaved a breath. "I do hope I have not made a mistake in letting them go. It all happened so abruptly." 

Elrohir looked to his father questioningly. "What could go wrong? Well," he caught himself, tilting his head to the side, "beside the usual unorthodox disasters which usually follow Estel around." This elicited, much to the younger elf's relief, a smile from the elven lord. "They'll come back, just like they always have in the past." 

Elrond turned slowly, "I hope you are right. I must not let myself worry so." He smiled wider then at his youngest blood son. He draped an arm around Elrohir's shoulder, squeezing his shoulder. "But I have you to worry about now, with my undivided and unadulterated attention." 

---

"So Fasse," Legolas called back to the lagging wizard upon Nienna. "Where exactly are we going?" 

Fasse hands were gripped knuckle white around the shallow cantle of the saddle he wavered in. In all truth, Nienna was an elvish horse, born to be ridden without fastenings or restraints. But also in all truth, Fasse was not a horseman and need every fastening and restraint the elves of Imladris could dig up. So Nienna bore it with much pinning of ears and gnashing of teeth. "Perhaps we should not go so far as Gondor. Somewhere, anywhere closer that I may walk on my own two feet!" lamented Fasse. 

"Would you rather walk in drifts of snow then?" Aragorn called from the head of the single file line they led down the path cutting along the side of a slopping meadow dotted with aspens. His answer was another agonized moan. Legolas edged Falmarin into a gentle trot, pulling Nienna's lead. Fasse howled as he flopped helplessly about in the saddle. Gorban followed behind the wizard braying hitchingly. Aragorn passed his elven companion a sidelong glance. "That really was not a kind thing to do, Legolas." 

Laughing lightly, Legolas looked over his shoulder at the wizard. "We'll make a rider out of him yet." 

"Hopefully before you kill him." Aragorn shook his head in disapproval. Legolas only smiled. 

Like an arrow from his bow, Legolas spoke a word and Falmarin in a grey streak leapt forward into a strong lope, bringing Nienna behind them. "I will meet you in Gondor, ranger! Enjoy the winter that will be visiting your dragging feet!" 

"Crazy elf!" Cried Aragorn as he watched Fasse bounce wildly in his unbalanced seat. The wizard's shaggy beard blew up over his eyes, muffling his desperate howls and muting Legolas's tinkling laughter. Shaking his head again he prodded Ralamir into a fast canter. This was indeed going to be a long, and testing journey. 

****

TBC…


	2. Eyes in the Dark

-Shadows on the Snow-

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (future planned violence…maybe)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing. I'm relying on the observation from both book and movie that as in the last one, Imladris is almost held in an eternal autumn. That is why it is only just now fading, and for one it started so early as seen in Rising Storm. I actually made this observation before PJ or whoever said it in the Extended Edition DVD. I'm so pleased with myself. 'Nuff babbling.

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

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Part 2

_____________

It was the fourth time the sun had risen late behind the Misty Mountains since they had departed from the comfort and safety of Rivendell. Four times she had yet to bestow any warmth on the chilled bones of man or wizard. As for how the elf faired, he rode upon Falmarin with a slight smile breathing deeply of the crisp – as he deemed it – air. Wearing only a light tunic, he had not even thought yet to don his thicker cloak. Falmarin also seemed completely at ease. This drove Aragorn and Fasse to no end of frustration that the elf could not even relate to there mild discomfort, though to Fasse it was far from simply mild. 

Fasse, as far as his riding, had managed to become seated enough to cling with only one hand to the swell of the saddle while the other grasped his breakfast, an apple. "Is this what you traveling lads always live on?"

Aragorn had dropped back while Legolas rode ahead. "No not always, orc meat always keeps you ticking on a cold night." He stifled a chuckle at Fasse's aghast expression. "I'm just joking with you, Fasse," he assured as the wizard showed no signs of catching his humor. Aragorn shook his head and chuckled. 

Ten minutes up the trail they met Legolas standing beside Falmarin waiting for them, his expression though was one of seriousness. "Estel if you will," he motioned for Aragorn to dismount. They stood close, it was obvious that the elf did not with Fasse to overhear. "I fear there may be trouble ahead, or rather behind." 

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean?" 

"I have seen the prints of wolves, a larger pack by the look of it, behind and before us."

"Surely they will not hinder us. Simple wolves would not dare to approach." Aragorn thought aloud. 

"Unless they are not just _simple _wolves." 

Aragorn frowned, thinking deeper into the meaning of Legolas's findings. "You believe they are wargs?" 

Legolas shrugged, "I cannot be certain. The paw prints are larger than the usual wolf." 

"Wargs would not venture so close to Rivendell would they?" Aragorn had had few encounters with the ravenous beasts, and he did not relish another meeting any more than he would relish meeting a Balrog in a cage. 

"Whether it be wolf or warg, they will be hunting for food for the winter." He looked to Fasse who was finishing off his breakfast, glad to be sitting stationary. "But we have less to fear if it is but a pack of wolves. Pray that they are not wargs, Aragorn. The game in this area has been sparse these last months, they will be growing desperate."

Aragorn gnawed on his bottom lip, nodding. "We will move on then, considering we have no other choice at the moment. But I urge you to keep your bow at the ready." 

Mounting once more, they started off again down the path. 

---

Day drew on to afternoon, but with Aragorn's better judgement they did not stop for a meal but rode on. The sooner they were out of this forest the better. The day passed without event but their usual banter was absent. Legolas would drift from the lead to the back, his pewter eyes shifting through the darkening trees. Across his lap laid his bow, ready at any moment, yet there was no occasion for its use. So night came again, colder and more uncomfortable than the last. "I will find no sleep this night, Legolas. I will take the watch. I have a feeling we may need it." Aragorn looked out to the haunting shadows of the forest.

Legolas eyed him doubtfully at first, but then nodded. "But do not hesitate to wake me if you find need for rest." 

Aragorn turned to the elf, his eyes twinkling. "When have I ever thought twice on waking you?" The elf punched him in the shoulder, then leapt from the boulder they had been seated upon before the ranger had a chance to retaliate. Legolas failed to dodge the large pinecone. 

Wrapping himself in his blanket he steeled himself for a long, cold night. 

---

Eyes, golden orbs of malice, peered out from the cover of the trees. Lust danced as they looked upon the sleeping companions. Winter, cold winter, would be upon them much sooner than the elves had anticipated. These would serve as enough food for many days. 

Legolas woke to the horrible feeling of many razor edged knives ripping at his throat. His ears ached with the screams of his friends as they awoke to the same agony. Death came with eyes of gold flecked with red. 

---

Heart pounding, Legolas lurched to a sitting position. Rare was it that the elves lost control of their dreams. But this had been a nightmare if ever he had seen one. He subconsciously cast about with his gaze for his companions. Fasse lay flat on his back with his and Legolas's blankets wrapped around him up to his nose. Aragorn had deserted his seat at watch the minute he saw Legolas startle. "Are you alright?" 

Legolas passed a hand over his eyes trying to clear his mind of the horrible vision he had witnessed. "I believe so," he heaved a breath. "Something in my dreams startled me, that is all." 

The ranger observed plainly the distress in the elf's actions. "What was it?" 

Legolas's face pinched, unconsciously a hand reached up to rub his throat. "I'd rather not talk about it right now," he said quietly, thoughtfully. He heaved a breath, pushing his thoughts aside for a moment. "Now that I am up, why don't you take some rest. Dreams will not visit me tonight, at least any that I wish to see." The elf pushed past the ranger, not waiting for a confirmation. Aragorn watched the elf swing into a tree, disappearing into the forest canopy. He lay himself down in the place Legolas had pre-warmed; thinking of what might have spooked his friend so. In good time, if Legolas felt the need, he would know. But it did not take the edge off of his curiosity, or his concern. 

---

Fasse groaned, stretching his sore muscles. For the past days he had been walking bow-legged and his temper had been fouler than usual, giving Legolas and Aragorn all the more cause not to trouble him with their own worries. As long as they kept a sharp eye out, the wizard would be fine. 

"How much farther?" bemoaned the wizard as once again Nienna lurched to a fast walk. 

"A few more days and we'll be in what used to be the lands of Eregion, but," Aragorn continued at the look of hope in Fasse's face, "we will not be stopping there. At least we will do everything not to." 

"Oh bother." Fasse huddled in his blanket atop of Nienna, wallowing in his misery. He was sore, he was cold and his face was numb, and he was hungry, all this just to get to Rohan? Could they just, take a boat, or something else? Gandalf had Gwaihir to cart him around, why couldn't he have some kind of expedient transportation other than a blasted horse. It just wasn't fair. 

Legolas brought up the rear that day, and he was the first to feel the sting of cold ice crystals pricking his face. He stopped then trying to decide whether it had been a figment of his imagination. Falmarin pranced beneath him feeling his riders tension. "Aragorn." 

Ahead, with Ralamir, Nienna and Fasse, Aragorn had also come to a halt. "Is that what I think it is?" 

"I pray it isn't." Oddly enough though they waited, no more of the phantom snow flakes fell. Uneasy, the three companions continued, subconsciously looking to the greying sky. That day their pace was speedier than the previous day's, switching between a fast walk, to an easy trot, and at time to a careful lope. By this pacing, they covered much more ground than previously planned. In all their hearts the threatening cold spurred them to greater speeds, also temporarily causing them to forget the threat of the forest beasts about them. 

It was that night though when the danger of the beasts forced itself upon the travelers. Weary and numb, they set up a small camp in the dark of the moonless night. Legolas gathered plenty of dry timber for a small fire. After a meager bite of rations, Fasse and Aragorn collapsed near the fire, succumbing to fitful sleep.

Though the weather had yet to effect him, Legolas could tell that the temperature was dropping, quickly. Sitting with his back to the fire so the bright light would not effect his vision in the dark, he settled into a state of careful alertness where every sound and movement was noted and analyzed. Unbidden, his dream came back to him, haunting his thoughts as he looked into the starkness of the forest. 

Those yellow and orange eyes boring into him had burned a place on his memory. They seemed to leap and burst with flames. Abruptly the eyes changed before him, forming one, single eye. The pupil stretched, creating a long, vertical oval as of a cat's eye. From it's center leapt malice and struck despair in his heart, though he knew not why. 

There was a soft snap. Legolas's eyes flew open. He had not even realized he had shut them. 

Eyes, there were eyes, golden orbs staring from the darkness of the trees. 

---

Aragorn didn't know what had woken him, but he knew that he had left the warm cocoon of sleep behind. Somewhat grouchily, he raised himself on his elbows, wincing as the cold air struck his face full on. Then he saw Legolas crouching rigidly, seemingly frozen in place. The elf was staring out into the night, his silver eyes wide in the darkness catching the dim light of the slowly dwindling fire. Slowly, as not to startle him, Aragorn inched towards the elven prince. "Legolas, are you…" It was then that he as well saw the glittering lights of the eyes. 

"Put another log on the fire, but do not make any sudden moves." Legolas warned softly, his lips hardly moving. Doing as he was bid, Aragorn stirred the bright coals, poking life into the flames. The eyes seemed to draw back from the burst of the sudden flare of embers. "Wake Fasse as quietly as you can." Aragorn crept to the slumbering wizards side, touching his arm lightly. Fasse grumbled and rolled over. Frowning, Aragorn shook the Istar harder. One eye popped open, glaring at the ranger. "What you want?" was what Aragorn could decipher from the mostly unintelligible grunts. 

"I need you to be very quiet, and not to make any sudden moves," he instructed in a level conversational tone. 

Fasse's eyes darted about their surroundings but did as he was told. "Great gobs of yrch spit!" he hissed when he saw the many eyes surrounding them. 

"Exactly my thoughts." Out of the corner of his eye he watched Legolas stand slowly bringing the anxious horses closer into the circle. Nienna's eyes were wide with fright, her whole body quivered as her equine senses blared at her to flee. Ralamir and Falmarin were not much better off. Gorban seemed to be dealing with the impending danger the best of the four horses. He stomped and tossed his head, waggling his ears almost as if he was glaring out at the blood thirsty beasts. 

Legolas sidled up beside Aragorn beside the light of the fire. "They're wargs Aragorn, hungry ones at that." 

"I don't believe I ever met one that isn't hungry," the ranger commented dully. "I think we're just going to have to wait it out until day light. Perhaps they'll back off before then." 

Legolas nodded, looking out at the eyes. He could not shake the vision he had had of the morphing of the eyes into one. It haunted him terribly. "I had a dream of the beasts last night."

"Is that what woke you?" Aragorn watched his friend closely.

The elf pursed his lips, but nodded. He shook himself, "I just hope what I saw is not a foretelling of the future." Before inquiring minds could ask further questions he brought the conversation back to the present. "It is odd. I did not think wargs traveled in such large packs." 

"They don't if I'm not mistaken," Fasse put in, eyeing the glittering orbs nervously. "Unless they know something about the coming days that we do not." 

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean?" 

Fasse swallowed hard. "What I mean is that perhaps the elven folk were wrong about their weather predictions, if you get my drift." He coughed nervously, "No pun intended of course." 

Legolas looked to Aragorn, pondering and idea before speaking what he knew the ranger was thinking as well. "What about the option of going back to Rivendell?" 

Shaking his head, Aragorn scowled deeper casting another look into the forest. "I fear that will get us nowhere. As it is we are but a hard two and a half day ride from breaking from these woods. By turning back we would only give the beasts more time to gain their courage and attack – and I do promise you, if I know one scrap about wargs, then they will eventually attack." 

Legolas nudged Aragorn in the ribs. "You're doing nothing to help matters by telling horror stories." 

For comfort sake they continued in a quiet stream of small talk, their eyes rarely resting on each other but constantly watching the eyes that would draw closer until Legolas could make out the huge silhouetted bodies. Drawing nearer, then they would leap back when Aragorn stirred the lulling fire back to vibrant life. Legolas would occasionally stand and do his best to calm the horses' fear. It was a welcomed sight when the first dim glow tinged the grey sky. Pair by pair, the eyes would blinked out, disappearing as if they had been ghosts of their imaginations. But when the horses had at last stilled their prancing, Aragorn found the evidence, through crushed leaves and the like, that the wargs had not been but phantoms of their nightmares. 

Sparing no time for a meal, they rolled their bedding and secured it to Gorban. It was as Legolas mounted Falmarin that he felt, and saw it, and knew that this was not but a passing fall. Snow, white and feathery, drifted from bruised clouds. "We must move, and quickly. If we can break from these trees we may have chance yet to make it Eregion." Aragorn called from the head of the small procession. Ralamir broke into a lope, feeling his rider's urgency. The beasts were near, the horse could sense them all that day, running tirelessly behind them, just in the shadow of the trees. The snow had begun to fall in earnest, covering the ground in a quickly thickening blanket. The horses' breath crystallized on their muzzles as they weaved between the trees. From early morning to the departing of the hidden sun they paced themselves as fast as they dared, but the wargs were ever following. At times Legolas would catch a glimpse of ragged hair hanging from lean bodies, or catch the scent of their soiled coats. 

Then came the dreaded hour when they could travel no more and as before the glittering eyes of malice closed about them, closer Legolas thought than the previous night. All that night the fire burned bright. It was their one sure protection from the wild beasts. Again, they lay awake, watching and gauging the creatures actions. Fasse did find some sleep that night, laying close to the fire with Aragorn and Legolas crouched on either side of him. He assumed that he was safe as he would ever be. 

Much to their dismay the snow continued to fall all through the night and into the next morning. The eyes blinked out, receding with the fading shadows, and as the previous day they took to the saddle as soon as was safe. This second day of their flight was much more trying than the last. The snow had seemed to let loose upon them, swirling between the shedding branches of the trees hiding obstacles that would rear before them, forcing the horses to make drastic leaps and swerves. With Aragorn at the front leading Nienna, Legolas rode beside Fasse, balancing and holding the unstable wizard upon the mare at those times when but instinct would keep one astride. 

And so the day continued with the beasts loping after their pray, intent on their one goal. Tonight, tonight they would feast and bare back to their dwelling flesh, sufficient for many frigid nights. 

****

TBC…

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(Really, that wasn't that bad. I mean compare it to Halo's, or Cassia of Sio's? Look at it in context.)

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Thanks to IrishElf (love the name!), Gwyndolen Rhionne, my faithful reviewer (I have so much trouble writing that one out!), Tehalanae, (I was also kind of wanting Gorban to stay with Elrohir, but who knows, he may yet ***wink***), and last, but surely not least, YunaDax (so glad you like my stories, makes me write so much better). Thanks you guys! You are the proverbial, Hobbit hair that warms my feet. : )


	3. Blood and Tears

-Shadows on the Snow-

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing. I'm relying on the observation from both book and movie that as in the last one, Imladris is almost held in an eternal autumn. That is why it is only just now fading, and for one it started so early as seen in Rising Storm. I actually made this observation before PJ or whoever said it in the Extended Edition DVD. I'm so pleased with myself. 'Nuff babbling.

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Shadows on the Snow

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Part 3

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Aragorn crouched near the crackling fire. The wargs had drawn much closer this night, their courage was growing. As sickening as it was, he knew that if the pack struck as a coordinated body, then they would certainly overwhelm the three travelers. What was worse was the sleepless nights and grueling travel had begun to tell on all of them, except perhaps upon Legolas, but even he, as an elf, seemed to shine less in the darkness. 

Now and then they would hear one of the wild beasts utter a guttural growl and the flicker of the firelight would reflect on long fangs. It was when Aragorn could see the trunk like forearms prowling just beyond sword reach that Legolas covered his hand with the sleeve of his cloak and reached into the fire. Gingerly he withdrew his hand, stood and threw a glowing object into the midst of the wargs. The beasts yelped and snarled in surprise, drawing back quickly into the shadows as the burning ember fell among them. Legolas looked after them, gauging their every movement with his keen eyes. "That may hold them for a while," he said softly. "But I doubt it will work for long. They will learn that they have no need to fear it." 

"Now who's being disparaging?" Aragorn muttered, sitting back on his heels. He shivered, shaking off the snow that had collected on his hunched back. The snowfall had yet to cease. Thought it did not hinder them so much now, but at this rate it was only a matter of time before the horses' legs would become ensnared in the drifts. Even though their chances of making it through the night were dim, they had to start planning their next move. If the wargs were miraculously overcome, then the most reasonable action would be to head back to Imladris with all haste. But if the wargs still haunted the forest and they somehow got free and into the open plains first, then perhaps they could push on to a friendlier wild. He was still wary of stopping in any of the small villages which dotted Eregion at intervals. Elves had once dwelled in Eregion, but they had since all but vanished from the land, leaving men to dwell there. Though the reasons were unknown, there was yet a tension between the Firstborn and the men of the wild. Some of the bad blood could have been carried over from the Dunlending men who by word of mouth could have spread the false horror tales of the elves. 

Aragorn shook his head at these thoughts. Men, he thought, even though human blood coursed through his veins, he could not help but feel separated and forever at odds with his own people. They spoke of the elves' pride with scorn when they could not see their own folly. He was drug from the musing of his mind when Legolas rose again and hurled another firebrand into the midst of the wargs. Already he observed the wargs were becoming immune to the fear. "Soon I will have to start using my arrows," Legolas muttered, half to himself. 

The beasts had even sooner begun to draw in again about them. They were tightening the noose about the travelers' necks. Legolas winced as the flames scalded his hand, but still he threw the burning embers into the pack. This time it did little, to nothing. There was a sharp growl and then one of the huge beasts lunged ahead of his elders. Before the warg had chance enough to snap his crushing jaws, there was yellow and green fletched arrow protruding from its neck. The pack withdrew again, caring nothing for their dead number. It was by his own foolishness that he second-guessed his elders. 

Legolas counted approximately to a round number, eighteen perhaps, and all far too large for his liking. So they waited, the firebrands doing nothing to hinder or scare the beasts away. Fasse, now wide-awake and trembling in his boots, stood back to back with Aragorn beside the blazing fire, his staff gripped tightly in his shaking hands. The wolves drew near again. Legolas's bow was taut. The horses quivered and stamped, snorting and throwing their heads. The elf felt their instinctive fear, but he could also feel their loyalty. Their was no sound, save for the pop of the fire and the soft breeze. Even the wargs were quiet. 

Then all hell broke loose. 

---

Wargs from all sides leapt in one sudden frenzy. Legolas could loose only one arrow before the beasts were slashing at him within close range. His white knife flashed with a light of its own blocking fang and claw. The snarling wargs were all about him. 

Aragorn felt adrenaline course through his veins as his sword scoured many backs. The wargs were not foolish in their attack or careless in their actions. He had yet to land a killing blow. Fasse, standing with his back pressed to Aragorn's, whirled his staff catching many of the creatures' jaws. His eyes were wide with terror, but he did not cringe from the fight. It was out of the corner of his eye that he saw Legolas being cut off from their protective circle. The wargs sought to separate them, and Legolas was being quickly being herded away from them. 

The elegant curve of the knife wove mind-twisting patterns, but none of them were for show. The elven archer had hardly enough time as it was to bring to bare another defense against the monstrous beasts. He ducked, twisting below a swiping claw to appear opposite of the warg and deliver a stinging blow to the creatures back. It hardly severed the thick, top skin. He hardly had time to dodge to the side to escape his head being taken off by a leaping warg. Instead, the beast's teeth sunk into his shoulder. He staggered beneath the weight of the warg, nearly falling. It was Gorban's hooves who struck a quick death to the warg. Legolas hardly had time to recover before he had to whirl again to block the gaping jaws grasping for his flesh. 

His blade singing in the frigid air, Aragorn brought the sword to bare on the nearest snarling wolf. The pressed in upon the two, giving them barely enough room to maneuver. But the moment that either of them struck, the hedge of snarling jaws drew back just out of reach. They seemed to play a game of teasing attack, then all at once they would surge as one body. One could never be prepared enough when this happened. 

Aragorn feinted to the left then struck hard at a charging warg, for the first time striking a solid hit. The glittering tip of his blade sunk into the beasts belly. He felt Fasse at his back land another solid hit on one of the wargs skull. The creature yelped sharply, prancing back out of harms way while two others took his place. It was a longer skirmish this time around as the wargs ducked in clawing and growling. As he danced back out of reach he registered that Legolas was now added by something rather large and grey. Then he saw the huge waggling ears. He would have laughed if it had not been such a harrowing moment. It was then, when his attention was diverted that he made a fatal mistake. 

The huge warg lunged, his sudden weight sent both of them tumbling. Far too close to the still roaring fire. Aragorn managed to twist onto his back, only to see the gaping jaws falling towards him. His hand grasped something rough. As the teeth flashed before him, he brought the thick branch around, jamming solidly in the warg's jaws. The beast howled, snapping the branch as if it were but a dried twig in summer. Muscles rippled beneath the coat of thick fur. Aragorn was pinned, and there would be no getting up if help did not come from the outside.

Fasse was busy with his own battle, looking desperately over his shoulder at the unfair wrestling match going on behind him. Helpless with his own fight, he could do nothing but watch. 

It was when the jaws all but encased his head, that there was a great rumbling beneath his head, shaking the earth. The warg's howl of pain was cut short as his body was crushed beneath the might hooves of a dark bay stallion. The warg, bleeding and close to death still rolled to its feet, crouching, a demented light enflaming his yellow eyes as he lusted over the flesh of the stallion. The fight was short, but fierce as the huge warg and mighty horse dueled with teeth and hoof and claw. It was Ralamir who struck the killing blow to the wargs neck. 

Aragorn, so consumed in this own fight for survival did not see the blood dripping from Ralamir's neck, close to his broad chest. What he did see, was an opening. The wargs, many with deep scourging wounds had regrouped with only half of their number yet battling. "Fasse! Make for Nienna!" The wizard gave no sign of hearing, but did as he was asked, beating wargs with his hard staff all the way.

Legolas, hearing Aragorn's cry, did the same. He spotted the dapple grey, thrashing with all hooves and teeth, the wargs dared not come near the horse. Gorban braying and kicking loped after the elf who was making his dash for Falmarin. Horse and rider met half way, with Gorban close behind. 

Fasse clung to Nienna's neck, as she whirled away from blood-seeking teeth. Aragorn had mounted by grasping the cantle of Ralamir's saddle and swung up as the great horse charged from the fray. Wargs nipped and clawed at their heels, desperate not to let their prey escape their clutches. It was Ralamir who guided himself from the gathering of wargs, while Aragorn fought off their attacks from the saddle, slashing either side of the horse. 

Legolas fared similarly with Falmarin and Gorban. The donkey bravely charged alongside the grey while Legolas defended their right. Then, with a great coiling of muscles, Falmarin launched himself over the head of the last warg, bringing them into open ground. All three horses and the one donkey, broke into a full run. It was a harrowing ride through the forest as the horses were hard pressed to dodge trees which loomed up in the whiteness of the air while the riders were also doing all they could to stay astride. The closeness of the wargs on the horses' heels goaded them on. 

After what seemed like an eternity, they broke abruptly from the heavy forest and onto the white carpeted plains. Never had Ralamir, Falmarin, Nienna or Gorban galloped so hard in their lives. The wargs did not slacken. Leaving bloody tracks even the wounded did not give into their pain. Ahead, but a few miles off, Aragorn saw the dark shadow of the first settlement of Eregion. If they could but reach it… 

Ralamir's hooves churned the snow, his neck was stretched and his nostrils flared to gain as much air intake as he could. He could not fail, it was not an option. Failure would mean death for his rider, not to mention himself. He could sense the wargs close behind, but they were lagging. It was becoming harder and harder to breath. 

The blinding white landscape rushed past Aragorn in rushes of burning cold. He spared a glance back and saw that the wargs were indeed falling slowly behind and their speed could not match the elvish horses. It was only when he let the reins loose so that Ralamir could have his head free that his hand, as it slipped down about the horses neck, felt the flow of the life giving substance which streaming down the horse's broad chest. His heart leapt into his throat as he looked back and saw a trail of crimson following them. When he drew back his hand, there could be no mistaking what the substance was. 

Panic welled in Aragorn, almost overriding his thoughts of the wargs in hot pursuit. He could not stop Ralamir to give the horse relief – though he doubted the horse would stop anyway – that would only bring both his own death and the horse's. Neither could he tell how bad the wound was. There was no other choice but to ride on. 

But Illuvitar was gracious in his ways. The wargs dropped back, seeing their prey draw to near to the settlement of men, leaving Legolas, Fasse and Aragorn to run free of their fate. But Ralamir ran on. "Ralamir! Stop this!" Yet no matter how much Aragorn pleaded with Ralamir to halt and let himself be cared for, the horse would not stop until all danger was a league away. Strider was hoarse crying for Ralamir to stop. Ralamir did not stop until they were a half-mile from the village. But the faithful horse had run himself to his end. 

Ralamir fell at the very end, sending Aragorn tumbling into the snow. "Ralamir," he cried again in despair as he crawled to the fading horse's head. The loyal bay's breaths came in gasping wheezes. Aragorn could not choke back the tears at the sight of the gaping wound at the base of his friend's neck. But Estel would not let hope go until the end. Ripping his own cloak from his back he pressed it against the mortal wound, cradling the horse's head against him. Ralamir's dark eyes blinked slowly, growing dimmer as their light began to fade. Aragorn sobbed as the memories flooded back of his happy days as a child with this horse who's large, understanding eyes always encouraged him to get back on and try again when he fell. The times when Ralamir had carried him through new territories; the times he and his brothers had raced across the plains. Aragorn bowed his head, burning tears scorching his frozen face. "No, please, Ralamir. Don't go, please." His voice cracked at the end as the horse gave one last gasp; then they closed, forever. In the faithful companion's last moment, his dark eyes had held Aragorn's, with more peace than Aragorn doubted he would ever feel again. Ralamir had succeeded in the end, now he could rest. 

The silence of the white expanse was broken with Aragorn's helpless sobs, even as they were muffled against Ralamir's soft bay neck. Aragorn clutched the horse to him like an abandoned child. Then Falmarin who stood at Ralamir's side, let forth a great cry that pierced the air with grief. The delicate grey moved to mourn beside the weeping man, his head bowed. But Aragorn was oblivious to anything or anyone. 

Legolas knelt at Aragorn's side, saying nothing but draping one arm over his friend's shoulder. Tears of his own grief stung his eyes, both for the loss of the dear horse, and for his friend's mourning. He wished for nothing more than to give up here and rest, and allow Aragorn to rest, but he knew that this could not be. As cruel as the truth was, the wargs would follow their trail for the meat of the horse. Legolas would not dishonor Ralamir so. "Come Aragorn, let us lay him to rest." The elf had no way of knowing if he even heard him. 

Aragorn could not calm his weeping, he could not hear or think of anything else besides his sorrow. He would not relinquish the horse to Legolas for a long while, his face remaining buried in Ralamir's smooth black mane. For all that the horse had done for him, this was how he was repaid. It was not right. Silently, unconsciously, he whispered one word broken, "Ralamir." 

TBC…

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*Sobs* This was such a hard ending to write. Ack, I was crying my eyes out! On the brighter note, Falmarin plushies to anyone who can guess what classic book I drew from (other than LotR) at the beginning during the warg scene. Congrats to those who guessed what I was trying to portray with the eye scene! Great job you smart people!


	4. Recovery

-Shadows on the Snow-

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing, I don't know much about Eregion or, Hollin, so I'm kind of winging it from what I do know (that isn't much). So sorry for the inaccuracies, I do my best. It's fiction, what can I say?

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Shadows on the Snow

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Part 4

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Grieving would not pass from Aragorn's heart for a long while. Ralamir was gone. He was numb to any other thought save his mourning. Ralamir had always been a taste of home wherever he went, offering his silent company when Aragorn felt the pangs of loneliness in his ranging. 

Now riding behind Legolas on Falmarin he felt that the loss was more than he could bear. Silently, they made their way towards the settlement knowing that if they hazarded to continue immediately, the wargs would only regroup and try again once they passed the relative safety of the village. Though strong Falmarin was, it would be improbable that the horse could outrun the beasts again with two being upon his back. But even safety in Eregion was questionable. 

Legolas had drawn his hood up to shadow his face, not wishing to risk the peering of unfriendly eyes. This felt too much like Dunland for his liking. He could only hope that this did not become as twisted as their 'adventure' in that hostile land. As they drew nearer to the settlement, Legolas's keen eyes picked out the movement of the sentries who were questioning any incoming strangers. If he were asked, he would have preferred for Aragorn to do the talking, but as it was he could not count on Aragorn this time. The man sat stonily silent behind him, having said no word to him since they had fled the wargs. Worry ate at Legolas's heart, but he knew he could not do anything about that yet. 

Fasse had also been much quieter than usual. His eyes were yet filled with tears and an occasional quake of his shoulders hinted his grief. Though he bore no love for the art of riding a horse, his heart was broken at the death of a good and faithful bearer. Any being, with even the slightest humanity, that had been present to witness Aragorn's sorrow at Ralamir's death, could not help but feel a twinge of sympathy. 

"Halt," the swarthy man stepped close to Legolas's horse noticing that the creature bore no bit. "What business have you in these parts? You look as though you have been chased by the breath of a demon." 

"You are close," Legolas said wryly, lowering his voice to hide his fair voice. "Wargs have pursued us we have only just escaped them."

The guard eyed them up and down, glancing at Aragorn who was looking back to the forest, his eyes lost. "And lost one of your beasts as well by the look of it." 

Legolas felt Aragorn tense behind him. "Aye, but not needlessly," he said quietly, more on behalf of Aragorn than the guard. "We wish only to stay for a few days at the most and recover some supplies." 

The Hollin man weighed his words, then nodded stepping back allowing them to pass. Taking Aragorn's usual course of action, Legolas went in search of a decent inn. The streets looked greatly more hospitable than Dunland had. It was the inn of the Lonely Traveler, oddly enough, that was Legolas's first pick. Dismounting, Legolas made a convincing show of loosening his horse's cinch while really speaking quietly with the horse. "Falmarin, you will stand out among these people, if threatened, do not hesitate to flee." Legolas paused, his breath nearly catching. "I cannot bear to lose you too." The grey bobbed his head slightly, turning to touch the elf's arm with his muzzle. Legolas smiled and patted Falmarin's shoulder. 

Leading the way, Legolas drew a deep breath and opened wide the door to the inn. Fasse's face warmed at once to the orange glow of the room and the shelter of the roof. Anything out of the snow and cold was good enough for him. As for Aragorn, he followed silently in their wake, staring at nothing. Legolas wished for nothing else than for his friend to wake from this trance, he felt more than a little unsure of how to proceed in an establishment such as this. Taverns and inns were not places that elves frequented. His face still shadowed by his hood he pushed his way through the jostling crowd. 

"And what may I do for you, sir?" The rounded man swiveled to Legolas the moment the elf had drawn close to the tables. 

"A room if at all possible." 

"And a warm meal with some…" 

Legolas looked sharply at Fasse, who was all to eager but too settle down here. "Just a room, thank you. We have two horses tied outside with a donkey." 

The innkeeper pursed his lips under a ragged mustache, but nodded. For a moment he disappeared under the eve of the counter. There was a jingling of keys then he reappeared with a single iron key. "Crowded tonight with this weather, you're in luck! This is one of the last rooms open. Just go up those stairs and straight until you reach the last door on the right. I'll have your horses stabled." Then with a flashed grin, the rotund character bustled off to attend to another customer. 

Fasse sidled up to the elf as they climbed the short flight of stairs. "You know, you really don't have to be so…irritable." 

Unfortunately for the diminutive wizard, Legolas was in no mood to be trifled with. "Fasse, you are no better than a hobbit when it comes to your stomach. There are more pressing priorities in life than to make yourself happy." Legolas rounded on Fasse, his voice low and hissed. "If I sought to appease my desires, then I would return to the wild and maim and destroy every last warg that yet draws breath. But in my anger, I would do not good." The elf turned on a heel and stalked down the hallway leaving Fasse to stare after him.

They were all tired, some more than others. Aragorn was bone weary and all he wished was to collapse in a heap and be allowed his time of grief. Emotionally, there was nothing left in him, he had shed his last tears over Ralamir's thick mane. As if a dream had engulfed him, he felt the comfort of a bed beneath him, a pillow beneath his head. He could almost imagine he was back home. Home…

Legolas helped the dazed ranger to one of the two beds. Without resistance the human sunk to the worn mattress. Barely had Aragorn's head touched the pillow that his eyes closed in heavy sleep. The elf lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, letting his posture sag. He himself wished for nothing more than a long dreamless rest, but there were yet wounds to dress and decisions to make.   


"Would you like to have the bed, Legolas?" Fasse asked quietly, unsure of the elf's mood at the moment. Even though the elf shook his head, Fasse had to admit that he had never seen an elf so exhausted. Closely, he watched as the elf drew off his long cloak, folding it in his arms. Though he was not astute in the mannerisms and health matters of elves, a torn and bloodied shoulder never was a healthy attribute. "What happened?" he asked dumbly as he stared at Legolas's shoulder. Legolas blinked, wondering for a moment what Fasse was talking about. At the elf's unsure expression, Fasse took it upon himself to remind Legolas by prodding the wound curiously. 

Legolas hissed and drew back from Fasse's painful touch. "Are you trying to make my life miserable or is it just a past time?" 

Fasse's bushy eyebrows peaked. "I was only trying to help," he muttered. 

"By trying to make me bleed more?" Legolas glared but backed off on his momentary lack of restraint. 

The wizard winced slightly, looking from the wound to his feet. "You probably should get it washed up, or something." 

"You just don't back off do you?" Legolas said hotly as he preoccupied himself with tending to Aragorn's visible minor scratches. Though they really needed little attention, it was at least something useful he could give his hands to do. 

Fasse sat on the edge of the opposite bed, watching the elf's administrations. He tried to stay awake as long as he could, perhaps be of help, but the day's harrowing events had had its toll upon his brittle bones. Sleep was beckoning, he couldn't help this time but submit. 

So Legolas was left alone to his thoughts, depressing as they were. Ralamir was gone; it was a loss that was nearly equal to loosing one of your family, especially for Aragorn. Perhaps it would have been different if Ralamir had died of old age, or at least in the comfort and familiarity of home. But the horse had died valiantly, protecting his friend and master. That was honorable in itself, but for Aragorn, it would prove a trial of his heart with the questions which would arise from his own guilt. Such as, could he have done something to avoid the warg? Could he have killed the warg himself and spared Ralamir? If he knew Aragorn at all, that was the next step. 

Never the less, they would have to push on to Rohan, at the least, if not Gondor. The chances were they – Legolas and Aragorn – would stop at the Rohan and leave Fasse there. They would be taking enough risks as it was traveling in winter, but to hazard the extra leg to Gondor would be far too hazardous. They would turn back after bidding farewell to Fasse in the safety of the city. 

That was if all went well getting _out _of _this_ settlement. The faces which had crowded the tavern below had been not in the least bit welcoming. More than likely, a few of them had seen him ride in, scarce of tack upon Falmarin but handling the spirited creature as if it were being led on a lead from the ground. And more than likely, a number had remembered the parting of the elves and recognized him for what race he was. 

Legolas still did not fully understand the animosity which chaffed between the elven race and the blood of the men of Eregion. He had heard rumor of an evil which had festered unknown amongst the elves when they had lived in these parts, an evil that had not been destroyed, but lay in wait. Maybe this was what drove the elves from this land. He could not be sure. 

Legolas heaved a heavy breath, lowering himself gingerly into a hard rocking chair near the window. Lamplight flickered below on the street that was otherwise deserted except for the snow which was drifting lazily from the slowly lightening sky. Legolas tilted his head, realizing that really, it was just turning morning. Daybreak would be in but a few hours. Again, he sighed, letting his head fall back against the headboard of the chair, rocking it slowly. It had been a long day, a long three days, really. As the sleepless tension filled nights weighed upon him, he let his thoughts slip from his worries and decisions, allowing blissful rest to abide in their wake. 

---

"I knew it! I just knew you'd go and forget about yourself!" Fasse hissed when he awoke to see Legolas asleep, with half lidded eyes, in a chair and his neck in a position that would give him grief for days. It was the yet untended shoulder that riled the wizard. "Trust an elf to kill himself." 

Aragorn stood behind Fasse, silent as before though his face bore a heavy frown. He was tempted to wake the elf but was hesitant to disturb his obviously deep rest. Upon awakening, he had been disoriented and unsure of his surroundings when finding himself in a warm bed. The sight of the sun, lancing through the windowpane. Had warmed his heart for the first time since…since last night. Yet the joyful sight also brought him pain. Ralamir's last sight had been a cold and sunless plain. Not even the moon had come out to say farewell. He turned away from the window, not wishing Fasse to see his barely restrained tears that pricked at the back of his eyes. Ralamir would not wish him to despair. He knew this, now he just had to accept it. 

"Gah!" Aragorn looked over his shoulder at Legolas's shout to see the dignified elf lying on his back, his chair tipped off its rockers. In fact that was very much how the elf was looking at Fasse at the moment. "Why do you insist on making my life miserable?" 

Fasse's hand was still frozen where Legolas's wounded shoulder had been. Legolas glowered at the wizard while pulling himself off the floor. His rude, and painful, awakening had done nothing but put him in foul mood. "Deary, deary! Do elves seek to make their own life miserable by letting their shoulder fester into a bacterial breeding ground?" Legolas gaped at him blankly, unsure of quite what the wizard had meant. Fasse waved his hands wildly, his face crumpling and twisting in fits of frustration. 

Aragorn appeared behind the wizard, brightening Legolas's heart with a smile, though forced as it was. "He's right you know. You should get that taken care of, preferably sooner than later." 

"So you are on his side then? You would rather poke and prod me than just let me heal?" The elf said with a frown. 

"How are you to heal if it isn't cared for?" 

"Naturally. Without painful salves or restrictive bandages." 

"Then what of these? How did they heal?" Aragorn pointed to his arms where there had previously been four long raking scratches from a wargs claws that had begun to fade. "Tell me, did you not tend to them last night while I slept? Or is that some other kind of salve making these scratches fade?" 

Legolas looked as if he were on the verge of pouting. "Aye, that was me. But remember," he waggled a finger at the ranger, "I am an elf and…" 

"…We heal better than you humans." Aragorn quoted while suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, yes, I've heard that quite enough from you, and my brothers." 

Legolas would not have submitted usually so soon in their argument, but he was really too relieved at Aragorn's emotional improvement that he didn't see the point in riling the human any more. If he knew his friend, doing something useful with his hands would help put Aragorn at ease. 

While Aragorn busied himself over Legolas's shoulder, the three talked of their next advance. Noon had found them and Legolas was eager to be off. It was their plan that they would scrounge what food, warm clothing, and unspoken, a horse, then be off this very day. So far they had been fortunate enough not to be forced into any close dealings with the men here. Hopefully, their bartering for supplies would go just as smoothly as their stay at the inn. 

Legolas stood, nursing his smarting shoulder. "I will go then. I trust you two can handle finding supplies." Then he added with a smile, "Since you will need them more than I." Legolas was heartened at Aragorn's half-hearted swat. He ducked from the room before Aragorn could threaten him further. The tavern below was just as crowded as before, making him wonder if perhaps some of these men did not just live in this room. Pulling his hood farther over his face, he stepped out into the open street. Cartwheels churned the snow and earth into sludge. Drawn by a great shire, the poor horse looked as if it had seen many days of toil with too little feed. His back was dipped and his feet were shamefully shod. Legolas frowned, this was no place to find a _Mearas_, but with a little aid from elven sense, he hoped to find at least a sound beast. _I cannot search for a replacement for Ralamir, _he reminded himself. _Alas, that would be a doomed mission. _

Trudging down the street, with all the human air he could muster, he went unnoticed mostly. His sharp eyes sized up every horse that he passed, though there were many, none of them looked close to anything that would survive even the shortest journey without collapsing. He frowned at the welts and sores that peppered many of the horses' backs. No wonder Falmarin had stood out so in the eyes of the men here. 

But there was one that had potential. Legolas stood just beyond clear site, watching five men fighting vainly with an ill tempered black whose coat had yet to loose its yellow tips from the scorch of the sun. The stallion thrashed his head against the confining ropes which sought to tether and bind him. Two men already sat on the sidelines nursing cracked skulls and rope burned hands. The horse let free a blood curdling scream as a man dared come too close. 

Legolas shook his head sadly at the pathetic attempts the men took at trying to tame the beast. No, they were not seeking to tame the horse, but to break it. Cursing, one of the men stepped back from the fray, grasping his bleeding forearm, with his other hand he drew a sword. He raised it, ready to slay the beast and rid himself of the trouble he had brought upon himself. "Stop!" The elf heard himself shouting without rightly thinking about what he had to say. "Why not allow me to take this horse off your hands and let me at least put him to use."

But the man would not see reason as he pulled away from Legolas's restraining hand. "The beast is dangerous." He narrowed his eyes, lowering his sword slightly, "And what would make you think that I'd give him freely to you." 

Legolas weighed his words carefully. "Not freely then." 

"Make me an offer." The man leaned upon his sword while a ways off the remainder of the men were unsuccessfully trying to bridle the horse. 

"Twelve silver pennies," Legolas said, though it was higher than anything the man could hope for. But Legolas saw potentially a strong-bodied horse that could be mellowed by the elvish hand. He was willing to pay the price of the man. 

The Eregion man pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Twelve? Surely you do not take me for a clueless horse trader. Look at the beast's chest, it is as broad as a beer keg!" 

Legolas fixed him with a shadowed gaze, freezing the man's excuses. "Twelve. Or would you rather be a fool and slay it and gain nothing?" 

The man sheathed his sword then, thrusting out his hand greedily for payment. "Fine then, I will be generous." His hand closed tightly around the silver pennies dropped into the callused palm. " 'Oy! Let the beast go, if the elf wants it, then he can catch it!" With a malicious grin he turned from the elf and sauntered down the muddy street. 

It mattered little to Legolas whether the horse was free or chained. "Tol!" he cried. The black's head swung around, his feet planting into the snow mid lunge at the elvish cry. Intelligent eyes stared back at the elf. Legolas sucked in a painful breath at what he saw. Dark, comprehending eyes met his, eyes that told a story and were willing to listen to another's. 

Ralamir's eyes.

Legolas felt the curious stares on him, but chose to ignore them as he approached the horse. It ducked its head but stood still, and continued to do so even as Legolas swung himself up onto the creature's broad back. There was a collective gasp from the onlookers when Legolas rode the horse from the square, lacking bit or saddle. 

But there was a pair of eyes that did not look on so kindly. Envy and greed burned in the dark depths of the horse trader as he watched the elf ride confidently from the square. 

---

Fasse blew a breath of exasperation as the shopkeeper again shook his balding head. "It is just a cloak, not a mithril vest!" The shopkeeper just bobbed his head and turned away to a more patient customer. Fasse grunted and stalked towards out the door to collide with Aragorn. "Gah! Block headed fools think someone would actually buy that coat." It was just then that the man that had been right after him pushed past the two, cloak on arm. Fasse groused. "Any luck for you?" 

Aragorn shrugged, "I suppose, I took the supplies back to the inn and loaded them on Gorban while you were in here haggling. Besides your cloak, I think we were successful. Legolas should be…" He trailed off when a great commotion went up a ways down the street at the front of the inn they had stayed at the pervious night. Then he caught a whiff of smoke on the air, and saw a great burst of orange flare from the roof of the inn. 

Before he had a chance to react, two sets of hands grabbed his shoulders roughly. "I've got 'im!" one of the men shouted. "This is the one that set the Lonely Traveler on fire!" 

****

TBC…

Quicky AN: Sorry everyone about that last chapter. I really am ***sniffle***. Horse-lovers seemed to pop out of hiding with that last part! Don't worry, friends, there will be plenty more horsey bravery coming up. Don't worry Tehalanae, it wasn't your fault, I had this in mind for quite sometime and was struggling over it since the first chapter.

Congratulations to **phoenixqueen** who nailed it on my trivia question! Yuppers, I was kind of using White Fang for it. Very helpful. 

Ha, and I have another question! Can anyone guess the name of the horse I introduced in this part? Lol, I just kind of gave it away… 

Thanks all for the reviews!


	5. Horsetrader's Deceit

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing, I don't know much about Eregion or, Hollin, so I'm kind of winging it from what I do know (that isn't much). 

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

__

Part 5

_____________

Raging fire leapt from the roof of the inn. Men had already assembled, passing heavy wooden buckets down a single file line, doing all they could to save the brittle building. 

Legolas took in the commotion outside the inn. Those who were not helping milled about a good ways away from the danger of the flames. It seemed the whole town had converged to this point. His heart was in his throat when a cry went up as the roof of the small stables caved in. But he need not have feared for at that moment he heard a familiar whinny, followed by an unmistakable braying. 

"Arson fire…found him…taken away…stranger…" Legolas whirled, his keen hearing picking up the muttered gossip spreading like a plague amongst the towns folk. Deep in the pit of his stomach he already knew who it was the people spoke of, though he wished to deny it.

"Who caught him?" questioned a curious bystander. 

"Nevens, the horsetrader, claimed he saw the stranger leave the inn a few moments before the fire broke out all of a sudden. He was taken to the old manor where the hearings used to be held…"

Legolas needed to hear no more. "Falmarin, take Gorban and find Fasse. Wait for us outside the town," he whispered hastily in elvish. Obediently, the grey nickered softly, reluctantly doing as he was bid. At a word the black horse Legolas still sat astride, pushed from the crowd, plunging back down the muddied streets. 

---

"If you would but listen to me…"

"Silence!" Shouted the rotund man seated stiffly behind the desk. His jowls quivered in the effort of raising his voice. By his clothing and prestigious environment, Aragorn guessed him to be what would loosely be described as a 'judge'. Aragorn clinched his fists in their tight bonds with barely constrained aggravation. If only they would allow him to speak, then this whole unneeded mistake would be set clear! Arms crossed, with a sickeningly smug expression, the man who had become known as Nevens, stood a few feet to the right of the man behind the desk. The 'judge' again bent over his paperwork, pushing his spectacles higher upon his short, puggish nose. The crinkle of paper, and the scratch of a split-tipped feather was all that was to be heard. 

Aragorn was watching Nevens though. The man had an air of, could you say, slyness, about him. He also seemed to be waiting for something. Ever so often, the small man would cast an anticipating look at the door, his hands working eagerly grasping his forearms. What the greedy little man waited for, Aragorn wasn't sure, and wasn't sure he wanted to find out. It was obvious, Nevens was up to something. And Aragorn was not sure it was entirely legal. 

Slowly the judge/clerk looked up from his slow scrawling writing, eyeing the ranger from foot to toe. He grunted, "So, you've been charged with arson, have you?" As Aragorn opened his mouth to respond, the fat man thrust out a hand, "Don't answer that, it is not in your rights." 

Aragorn balled his fists, grinding his teeth. He couldn't suppress the sound of frustration that boiled in his throat. They did not need this delay, it would only allow the winter to take more control over the land. Legolas was going to kill him. 

Speaking of Legolas, at that very moment there was a great bang which echoed through the hollow confines of the manor, followed by a raised shout cut short by a curt growl in elvish. Another small man – small men seemed to be abundant in this settlement – bustled in the door, clambering and jawing about something unintelligible. The poor man had hardly gotten the understandable word, "Someone" out, before a definitely taller, and more regal figure pushed the man aside. 

"What is this about?" 

Aragorn groaned. He would have slapped himself if his hands were free. "Great entrance," he mumbled. 

Legolas's sudden appearance actually startled the fat judge/clerk to a sad excuse for standing. Aragorn had begun to wonder if the man was even capable of such movement. "What is this?" he shouted, his jowls quivering in barely constrained rage at the unplanned interruption. "Who let you in?" 

"It's him!" Nevens cried all at once, pouncing forward towards Legolas, whose features were still obscured by his hood. The horsetrader needed no facial features to distinguish if this was whom he had wished to lure into his greedy clutches. The elf had enough bearing and noble air to him to recognize from a league off. "He stole my horse!" 

Legolas tried hard not to gape. "I paid you fairly for the beast. More than it was worth in fact." 

"You tricked me," glowered the horsetrader. 

"Then that was by your own folly." 

"Enough!" screamed the clerk, slamming his meaty fist against the desktop like a mallet. "Guards!" he howled to the two shabbily uniformed men flanking Aragorn. Two more positioned themselves behind Legolas, seizing his wrists. It was not a wise move. The two guards found themselves taking an inadvertent nap flat out on the hard floor. But the elf had not choice but to submit when a knife was placed dangerously close to Aragorn's neck. 

Matters only got worse when Legolas's hood was thrown back, revealing his race. "An elf!" cried Nevens. "I should have known. Only they would be so treacherous and deceitful." 

Unfortunately for Legolas, it seemed that his race would justify a solid strike to the side of his head, more out of surprise on the guard's part. Legolas suppressed a wince, blinking away the blood that slowly oozed from the split skin. The blow had been enough to send him stumbling, he would have fallen if not for the firm hold of the men. 

Nevens lips twisted into a sneer as his scheme turned out for the better. "My good Master Ebner, I have seen these two strangers mingling together. The man surely must be guilty if he takes company with this creature. You hardly need the evidence that he was the last one seen departing the Lonely Traveler before the fire." Nevens voice was low and deceitfully convincing. "And the elf for that matter is a danger to our towns folk." Then he added, "Not to mention he swindled me out of a horse." 

Ebner's fists clinched convulsively on the arms of his chair. His small, beady eyes darted from one face to the other. Apparently the pressure was too much for him. "Nevens, you know more of this than I. Why don't you decide the outcome?" 

The horsetrader bowed graciously, placing a hand over his heart. "Your faith is not misplaced. I will deal with this incident swiftly, and thoroughly." Ebner nodded, adding three more chins to his previous two. 

  
This did not bode well, for either Aragorn, or Legolas. 

---

Fasse hadn't a clue of what to do now. He was alone in a town of potentially hostile nature and he didn't even have a scrap of food. That was all with…

Without warning, something grabbed the back of his cloak, dragging him away from the crowd before he could utter even a terrified whimper. Just as his mind cleared enough to struggle, the iron grip released him. He fell with a squelch into the mud, instinctively throwing his hands over his head in a defensive gesture. Minutes ticked past before he peeped between his arms. Two gangly ears flopped into view, followed by a chiding snort. "Heh," Fasse chuckled nervously in embarrassment. Both Falmarin and Gorban stared down at him, somewhat confused at the wizard's behavior. "Well it would be you two who would come pull me out of the muck and drop me in some more."

Unspoken, Fasse really was quite relieved that he was now accompanied by some familiar faces – though equine may they be. Now, whether it would do him any good besides psychological comfort was undetermined. With the help of Gorban's ears, he managed to pull himself up, or should he say, Gorban managed to pull him up. "I do say, I'm not quite rightly sure what we should do next." He unsuccessfully tried to scrape the mud off himself. "Deary, with Strider gone and the elf off somewhere else – no doubt in the very heart of this mess – I'm quite at loss." Fasse blew a frustrated sigh when his fretting accomplished nothing but smearing mud all over his clothing. "I wasn't made to do all this sneaking about." 

Falmarin gave a deep-throated nicker, tossing his head. Fasse glared at the horse, waving his hands. "I know, I know, you beast. Of course we're going to rescue them. By the Valar," he moaned, "you think I would leave them to be tormented, or worse." The grey snorted. "You have no faith in me! Didn't I go back for them in Dunland when they had gone and got themselves all in a tangle, just like this time I might add?"

Fasse grasped his staff, trying his best to pull himself up into as much of a heroic posture as he could muster. "Might as well not put it off." He waggled a finger at the donkey and the horse, "And I even have an idea of how to help them." 

---

The cell had definitely not been constructed for the comfort of its inhabitants, but Legolas could truthfully say it was much more 'pleasant' than his stay in the Dunlands prisons. For one, he thought wryly, his back hadn't been whipped raw. "Nice accommodations they've set us up with." Legolas heard Aragorn say from the cell next to him. The stone wall kept them from seeing each other, but the wall facing out was made of heavy iron bars, allowing them to hear each other clearly. 

Aragorn heard Legolas grunt a reply that was for the most part unintelligible. "Really was a wonderful entrance you made back there," he mused.

Grunt. 

The ranger hated sitting here, twiddling his thumbs, unable to do anything. It was all to odd to think that his death would come from the hand of such a despicable, and pathetic excuse for a man such as Nevens, a horsetrader. Then an abstract thought struck him. "Legolas, what do you suppose Nevens' motive was in accusing me of setting fire to that inn?" 

He heard another groan, "Enlighten me, Strider." 

Aragorn ignored the heavy sarcasm. "Legolas, he said you stole a horse from him. What happened?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Such as, what did you do? Did you do anything that would rile him, or make his hatred for elves increase?" 

Legolas was quiet for a moment, running over the words and actions that had taken place, thinking on them as if through the horsetrader's eyes. 

__

Nevens raised his sword, ready to slay the beast and rid himself of the trouble it had caused him. "Stop!" a voice suddenly interrupted. "Why not allow me to take this horse off your hands and let me at least put him to use."

Inwardly, Nevens bristled at the pompous assumption that this cloaked man could handle a horse better than he. He shook off the restraining hand which held his sword at bay. "The beast is dangerous." He narrowed his eyes, lowering his sword slightly, "And what would make you think that I'd give him freely to you." 

The lithe man seemed to weigh his words carefully. "Not freely then." 

__

Nevens' mind clicked into gear at the prospect of a dealing, and unfair dealing to his advantage. "Make me an offer." Nevens leaned upon his sword while a ways off the remainder of the men were unsuccessfully trying to bridle the horse. 

"Twelve silver pennies," the stranger said. Nevens's greedy heart swelled. This man was a fool to offer that much for a green horse, incapable of even being caught. 

The Eregion man pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Twelve? Surely you do not take me for a clueless horsetrader. Look at the beast's chest, it is as broad as a beer keg!" 

__

The shadowed figure fixed him with a level stare. "Twelve. Or would you rather be a fool and slay it and gain nothing?" 

Something in that stare had frozen Nevens's heart. The man sheathed his sword then, thrusting out his hand for payment. "Fine then, I will be generous." His hand closed tightly around the silver pennies dropped into the callused palm. " 'Oy! Let the beast go, if the elf wants it, then he can catch it!" With a malicious grin he turned from the elf and sauntered down the muddy street. 

Then he stiffened as a word, an elvish word, brought control over a formerly uncontrollable beast.

"Horsetraders are not the sort that like to give good deals, as much as they say it is their goal. Their objective is to come out ahead, and you, in a sense, 'swindled' him out of that. Quite severely I might add." Aragorn surmised after Legolas had finished. "You being an elf only added insult to injury. I think the hatred for your race has only festered over years of ignorance and division from contact with other peoples." 

Legolas shrugged on his side of the wall. Though it did him no good in the long run, knowing at least _why _someone hated you – in a vague sense – did take the bite off, a bit. Aragorn did not help matters by insisting to continue his wondering.

"Do you think that Nevens was trying to get back at you by luring you here with me?" 

Legolas groaned, his head throbbed where he had been ungraciously clubbed. The distracting ache in his shoulder did not help matters. "Strider, I really don't know. But if you ask me, it just doesn't sound plausible that this, Nevens, would go through this much trouble just to get back at me." The elf nursed the side of his head with his palm. "There's probably something in it for him. Maybe favor from the higher ups of the town." He sighed, "I really don't know, and knowing won't help matters much, I think." 

---

It was not a wizard's usual duty to perform incognito acts of daring do. Neither was it usual for a wizard to perform incognito acts of daring do with a horse and a donkey breathing over his shoulder. His situation would only worsen when he reached the manor where Fasse had over heard that now _two _criminal strangers were locked in its prison. Fasse still wondered abstractly why a manor, as the one he looked upon, would sport a prison to dirty it. No wonder, he thought dully, of course _he _would have to rescue the two fiends _again. _

****

TBC…

__

Few quick AN's: Great to see you all are staying with this for the most part! Also it's great to see all these horse fans. I'm so relieved that I'm portraying my equine characters correctly. ***Sniffs at the thought of Ralamir*** Though not much horse action in this part. Don't worry, there'll be more coming up. Same with our new equine character. ***Wink***

Thanks to The Insane One (lol!) YunaDax (I always love getting your enthusiastic reviews. So much help for my rather…puny ego.) Gwyn (See I'm not even going to bother writing the whole thing out) e (Wow! You much have really like Ralamir! So glad,) Tehalanae (I'll be getting around to the nameless horse getting a name. Though, I already know who he is. Writers privilege. : )) and last, but not least Lily Frost (Ew, nasty mites. ***Finds soap*** Hope it all works out!). Thanks you guys!


	6. Entry and Escape

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing, I don't know much about Eregion or, Hollin, so I'm kind of winging it from what I do know (that isn't much). 

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

__

Part 6

_____________

Fasse eyed the darkening sky, rubbing his hands over his arms. It was cold and it was snowing again. He didn't like being cold, and he didn't like snow. Snow made him cold, and cold made him a grousing, grumbling wizard. What made his whole unpleasant situation worse, was that he had to be uncomfortable in secret. His scheme was shady, but with the help of an item he had picked up on the way over to the manor, it just might work. 

Falmarin's head suddenly bobbed up, his ears pricked forward. He stood stock still, a building nicker growing deep in his throat. But the whiney got no further than a snort. Fasse watched the horse closely, not sure what the blasted creature was up to this time. 

An answering bugle broke the silence of the growing darkness. 

Fasse groveled his head in his hands. "No, no," he moaned, "No more horses." 

But it seemed this was his fate, to be ever hounded by the equine race. A shadow on the white backdrop of the snow, the black horse was an enigma in the darkness. Legolas's black find dropped in beside Falmarin, very much at ease as if he had known the grey horse for all his life. Fasse groaned, his shoulders slumping. "You must be that new demon that that fool of an elf picked. Figures that _I _would have to be the one that got stuck with you." If truly the horses understood him, they showed no sign of picking up on his sentiment. 

Taking a deep breath and clutching his item to his side, Fasse stepped boldly out from the protection of the eves. Might as well get this all over with.

---

"It's cold," Aragorn commented, not really to anyone. He had to admit it, but he was bored. He almost would prefer if someone would come and attempt to rough them up so at least he could have something to preoccupy him. Almost, would prefer. Legolas obviously did not share his sentiment.

When sharing this thought with the elf, the prince had cut him off before he could finish. "Aragorn! Do not even say it! I have a terrible feeling that you would get little of the 'roughing' and I would take the scourge." Unfortunately the elf was most likely right in this assumption. And so, Aragorn kept this thought unspoken. 

"Yes, Aragorn, to you it is cold." 

"But not to you? No of course not," Aragorn fiddled with the long chain which bound his hands together in front of him. "You're an elf; you never feel cold." 

"Not necessarily." 

Seeing perhaps a conversation, or at least an argument, the man pressed the elf further. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean," Legolas said from his side of the wall, "that elves can feel cold, sometimes." 

"When?" 

"Well," Legolas thought for a moment. Really, he could not remember ever really being _cold_, but he had heard of elves in severe winters feeling the mortal sensation. "When it is _really _cold." 

"It is really cold," the ranger muttered. 

"To you, human."

"You still haven't answered my question." 

"I did." 

"Not enough."

Legolas groaned, "Strider, how much more do I need to tell you? Elves get cold, sometimes, on rare occasions." 

"But what do the situations have to be like?" Aragorn pressed further. Aggravating Legolas was so much more entertaining than counting the stones in the wall.

"I don't know, Strider. I've never been in those situations, so how am I supposed to know?" The edge in the elf's voice betrayed his growing frustration. 

"So you've never actually been cold?" 

Legolas blew a heavy breath. "No, I've never actually been cold." 

"So do you think that if you were out in, say, a really long snowfall and got caught in it with nothing but a cloak for let's say, a month, would that make you cold?" 

"That would make me dead," Legolas answered wryly.

"Well then let's say if you were stuck in a snow fall with an extra coat for a week without shelter…"

"Yes, that may make me cold. Is that enough information?" Legolas sighed in relief when there was no answer. The silence was welcome. That was until he heard steps descending the stairs. 

---

After much shooing and scolding, Fasse managed to persuade the three horses to remain outside and not follow him into the manor. Goodness knows he'd draw enough attention waltzing in with a donkey and two horses. 

He noticed a change in his attitude the moment he set foot inside the double doors. Unlike Dunland, the entryway was not guarded lock and key. This was a town, by definition, and this manor was a public place for the raising of complaints and concerns. At least, Fasse thought, it was partially a public place. There were after all prisons and the like here, not to mention the double dealings and deceit which surely festered inside these walls. 

Pertaining to his attitude, he was immediately lightened in spirit partially because he was at last out of the driving snow and chilling air. It was the simple pleasure of warmth which succeeded always in putting him in a much more agreeable state of mind. Now, if only he didn't have to rescue anyone. 

"Good evening, sir. What may I do for you?" Fasse was greeted by a diminutive man – even more so than himself – behind an equally small desk crammed with papers and the like. 

The wizard drew himself up, bringing to bear as much wizardry authority as he could muster. "I'm here to see the jailer for those two strangers brought in earlier." 

"Hmm," the clerk disappeared beneath his desk for a moment. He popped back up with a large leather bound book in hand. The worn cover was covered with a layer of thick dust which billowed like a cloud around it when the clerk flipped the book open. "And what might be your name, Mr…."

Blast it all, he hadn't thought of having to have an alias. Improvise, he told himself as he gaped for a name. Naturally, he chose the first that came to mind besides his own. "Eh? Oh, it's…Mr. Elrond." Fasse kicked himself mentally. He could only pray that this land had not heard the name of the elven lord. 

The clerk stared at him over his uselessly small spectacles. An eyebrow arched skyward. "Hmm, yes, Mr. Elrond. As I was saying – or rather about to – I do not see your name anywhere on the lists." 

Fasse grimaced. Thankfully his hoary beard was there to hide it. "Why would I even be on the lists?" 

The clerk coughed, his owlish eyes blinking once, very deliberately. "Everybody who wants to go further than here must be on the lists, Mr. Elrond. The jailer never filed anything about you coming." The clerk waggled a finger before 'Mr. Elrond' could contest. "But, I could go ask him if he was indeed expecting you." 

Fasse squeaked. "Heh! No, that would be all too entirely out of the way for you, my good sir." The wizard licked his lips nervously, getting a mouthful of his own mustache. "Really, actually, I meant for it to be an, ah, surprise for the good chap." From beneath his cloak he drew a wrapped package. "I had the intention of delivering a present to him from, a friend." 

Surprisingly, the clerk laughed. It was a very funny laugh in itself, sounding very much like rusted pennies rattling about in a mithril bucket – though why any dwarf would waste mithril on a bucket, who knew. He nodded to the package, "He will like that. Dallered is quite the, connoisseur, though he is a bit rough about the edges." Then the serious, scholarly clerk returned. "I suppose I can let you by this once. But next time," eyed him chidingly, "make sure you are on the lists." He stood, "Would you like me to take you down that way?" 

Fasse shook his head, "No, no, you've done far too much already. But if you could just point me in the right direction…"

The clerk pushed his chair back, its legs grating against the wood floor. He moved to point down one of the hallways. "Follow this hallway, there will be three doors. Go through the middle one. After that, you'll run into another clerk – much like myself. Give him this," the clerk thrust a sheet of paper with hasty scribbling on it. "Then he'll let you through. You'll see three more doorways; go through the one on the far right. Go down that corridor and you'll see a staircase. Go up the staircase and keep going down the hall. Go five doors down and go into the sixth. There will be another clerk there, give him this," again, the clerk pushed into his hands another parchment. "You'll need to go through the door – there's only one in this room – and down the corridor until you hit the third door on the left. Open that, and there will be the stairway that will lead down to Dallered." The clerk smiled pleasantly, obviously missing the meaning of Mr. Elrond's slightly blank expression. Very much like a wall that has bounced many thrown stones off it. Or more simply, a mind that has heard much, but comprehended little. "You can't miss it." 

Fasse's gurgled a thanks. He turned to the long hallway. A hand fell on his shoulder, turning him around. "That hallway, Mr. Elrond." 

"Heh, yes, yes of course." 

The clerk bobbed his head to the wizard. "Have a good night, Mr. Elrond." 

---

The swarthy jailer appeared before the bars of Legolas's cell. "You have a visitor." 

The 'visitor', was far from anyone Legolas would ever want to have visit him. Two men pushed in, looking no more enthusiastic about their job than Legolas was about it. Elves were on the level of demons in their uneducated minds. Legolas remained crouched with his back against the wall, his stare piercing both men. It was an unnerving, if not nerve-wracking, to have an elf – any elf - fix you with his most knowing and contemptuous gaze. It seemed to be something that came naturally to the Firstborn race. 

Legolas had taken much study in mastering this technique. 

Sweat beaded on the unfortunate two guards' foreheads, as with cautious, quaking steps they proceeded forward, acheingly slow to their employer. "Fools! You shake like a leaf in a summer gale. Take him, and do not be so slow about it." 

Goaded on by the displeasure of the horsetrader, now town official, the men attempted to take the elf by the shoulders. But there was no elf to grab. 

Legolas darted from under their hands. Bound hands did not impede his agility. The door was wide open, inviting his escape. It was his chance, and he was not one to pass up chances. 

But Nevens was not so foolish to proceed to take an elf with a mere two men. No sooner had Legolas set foot outside the cell, was he set upon by Nevens' back up of five armed men. 

Aragorn, in the next cell over, pressed his face to the bars, trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion by Legolas's cell, no doubt caused by the elf. He could only dare to hope that the prince had managed to break loose. It would not be such an improbable accomplishment; he had seen Legolas break from far tighter situations. Of course, not always without a few minor injuries.

His hope was flamed at the pained shouts and curses uttered by deep man-ish voices. 

"You imbeciles, take him now!" raged Nevens. The men had drawn back, a tight ring pushing the elf back against the wall. They had learned the hard way not to get too close the elf, lest they earn themselves more black eyes and kicked guts. "Are you so afraid of one unarmed elf that is bound with chains?" The truth was, they were. Nevens' face flushed red. "Take him, I say!" 

With Nevens' sword prodding the hapless hired guards' backs, they tightened the half circle about the elf. Their assorted weapons raised they pressed in all at once. 

He tensed, coiling back like a cat ready to spring, as a mixed variety of implements of impending pain descended down upon him. Once again, the men found that the elf was just not there anymore. 

Legolas sprang low at the level of the men's knees. His body slammed full weight against the shins of the men, knocking their legs out from under them, providing a wide gap in their pinning wall. He rolled to his feet, hitting the ground running. As smoothly as a Breelander thief, he confiscated the ring of keys from the stunned jailer's hands. 

Aragorn caught the keys that Legolas shoved hastily through the bars. Deftly, he worked the different keys, blessedly it was only on his second try did his shackles snap open, falling to the floor with a satisfying clank. Sparing no time to rub life back into his pinched wrists, he set to work on door. Unfortunately the angle and narrowness of the bars prevented him from making much progress. Meanwhile Legolas was busy dodging the swipes of the guards who had clumsily gained their feet, after much tripping and cursing. 

Finally, the door clicked. 

The elf spun like a top, kicking and keeping at bay any who drew too near. The numbers of his opponents were growing as officials of the town passing above the stairs heard the commotion and called for help. He was much relieved when the door clicked behind him. "Nice of you to join me."

"Lets just get out of here before more come." Aragorn pressed as close to Legolas's back as possible. 

Their advance went all together too smoothly. Legolas worked one hand free, utilizing the length of heavy iron as a swinging weapon. It was an effective deterrent. With a skillful twist, he even managed to tangle the chain around the hilt of a man's sword, tugging it from his grasp, providing Aragorn with a weapon. 

But all in all, fighting on the offense was much more difficult than fighting to kill. When fighting wargs, orcs or other murderous beings you needn't be cautious where your weapon fell on your enemy. And so it was that Aragorn missed the dagger pulled from Nevens boot and hurled at Legolas's unprotected side. 

****

TBC…

__

A/N: Sorry guys, not much horse action in this one but it is still planned in upcoming parts. There was a bit of horse-ish humor at the beginning though! 

I know what you mean about the growls, Tehalanae. Woooh, I go all tingly whenever there's some great elvish agility and warrior-ish stuff. 

Lol, Lily Frost, I think that sentiment is shared by many people out there.

That's all for now folks, sorry that these posts are coming so slow right now. My brain is in slow mode.


	7. Chaos Together

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing, I don't know much about Eregion or, Hollin, so I'm kind of winging it from what I do know (that isn't much). 

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

__

Part 7

_____________

By the time Fasse had reached the end of the long corridor, he was already regretting having not asked the clerk to lead him to the jailer. He did, however, remember to go through the middle door.

Upon opening the door, Fasse had found himself in a spacious library of sorts. This was secondary since he was nearly nose to nose with a lanky, stick-like man with sagging features and a nose that looked as if it had been punched and abused one to many times. 

"Who," the clerk eyed him disdainfully, "are you?" His voice was horribly nasal, probably due to lack of air passing through the flattened nose. 

Fasse took a while to collect himself, still not yet recovered from the surprise waiting for him inside the door. "Eh, ah, I am Mr…eh…Mr. Elrond." He nearly slipped and spouted out 'Gorban'. 

The clerk moved with stiff-jointed strides to his chair. His knees seemed to hardly bend and he crackled with every movement. He struck Fasse as a very, stiff character. "Do you have a pass, or are you on the lists Mr. Elrond?" 

Fasse shook his shaggy head, "No, no I have a, what-do-you-call-it, pass."

An eyebrow arched, stiffly, peaking like the Misty Mountains. The clerk hmm-ed for a count, looking over the hastily scribbled parchment Fasse handed him. "Very well then," the clerk abruptly slammed a heavy stamp on the parchment before shoving it back to Mr. Elrond. Without a last word of either farewell or 'be gone', the clerk burrowed his stubbish nose into a worn leather book. And when Fasse tried to ask for directions, he received a withering glare that would put the _real _Mr. Elrond on edge. 

But now Fasse was faced with the horrible decision as to which door to take, for as the first clerk had said, there were three doors. But as before, the stiff man held up a hand and shushed him. "Oogh," the wizard moaned. After much deliberation and pointless philosophizing, Fasse chose the door to the far left. 

Unfortunately, as he found out after at least half an hour of wandering through more studies, getting yelled and emotionally beheaded by many an enraged clerk and official, he had chosen the wrong door. Never had he imagined from looking on from the outside that the interior of the manor was so immense. It seemed he had stepped into a whole other city that boasted of libraries and rooms of knowledge and endless studies, very much as he had heard Gondor described. 

And so, Fasse with many wrong turns, worked his way back to the room where he had started his wanderings, a whole hour wasted. The stiff bodied clerk quirked an eyebrow jerkily before swiveling back to his papers. _Librarians_, Fasse glowered inwardly. _Always there when you don't want them, and when you do, they won't have you. _

Two doors left; at least he had a fifty-percent chance of choosing the right door. Being the somewhat symmetrically minded wizard that he was, he chose the door opposite of the one he had just come from, the farthest to the right. It was by the smile of Illuvitar that he did. He was presented with another long corridor that opened into a gapping hall, lined all around with a balcony, providing access to multiple unlabeled doors. 

The only problem was, there was both a staircase leading up and a staircase leading down from the balcony though Fasse had no way of knowing which one was meant to lead up or lead down. The only sure thing he could really recall was the vague number six and five – but of course he had no clear idea of what they stood for. 

It was a surprise, to say the least, to emerge from a relatively unoccupied study to pop out here in a bustling open room. The befuddled wizard was finding it quite hard not to imagine he had stumbled unwittingly – as many of his actions were – into another city by some means of uncontrolled and chaotic magic. Blinking owlishly, he chose the right staircase, reasoning that things that were right ought very well to be on the right. Who would put the right staircase on the left after all?

The next decision Fasse was faced with, were the numbers. He surmised correctly that they must have something to do with the doors and which one he should pick. How did six and five go together? Should he add them and choose the – he counted on his fingers hastily – eleventh door? He could very well just try every door he supposed, but all the time wasted could be the beheading of Legolas and Aragorn. Fasse shuddered at the thought. To be alone…no guide, stuck forever in this Illuvitar forsaken white plained land with a herd of horses threatening to devour him if they did not get their elf back? Or for that matter, their human? 

Nay, he was a wizard, not suicidal. 

Fasse flexed his palms, flicking his fingers against one another in a nervous habit he had picked up a good…minute ago. He gnawed on a strand of his beard, the gears squeaking in slow revolutions in his head were almost audible to the passer-by. They needed oiling. 

Then it came to him. A candle flaring to light above the wizard's head could almost be seen. Why not just try doors five _and_ six? Obvious as it was, it was a break through for the wizard's thought development. And if that didn't work, then, to borrow the colloquialism, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

The fifth door proved to be most certainly the wrong door due to the dead end storage room full to exploding with mothballs. The next door down however looked frightfully more accurate. Frightfully, because there was, again, a clerk. However, he was not half as razor tongued as the last, maybe that was because the harshest words, or sounds, that gurgled from the clerk's throat were full-bellied snores. This clerk definitely had enough belly. 

Though Fasse didn't know this at the time, this corpulent man was the very judge-like-clerk that had admitted Nevens to be Legolas and Aragorn's 'prosecutor'. If Fasse had known this, he would have been greatly heartened to know he was drawing nigh to his goal. 

But currently he was faced with the dilemma as to how to go about waking the drowsing man, tactfully. There was always poking the clerk, or patting his balding head, shouting or pulling the chair out from under his weighty girth, but none of those sounded very tactful. He would also like to escape in full form without any missing limbs. Then there was the option of simply sneaking past and leaving the man to his dreams. 

Fasse had just decided to settle upon this last choice, and had not stepped further than the drowsing man, did a hand snap out, catching him back by the hood of his cloak. The wizard's eye popped wide in surprise.   


"And where do you think _you_ are going?" a voice that likened to a bubbling stew pot grumbled from behind him. 

Fasse flexed his shoulders, chortling nervously. "Heh, me? Oh, I'm just here to give a present to the Dallered fellow. Mother's request you know."

"Dallered doesn't have a mother."

Fasse's toes curled in his boots, his voice raised a agitated octave, "Deary, deary! Everyone's got a mother!"

The clerk, named Halbred narrowed his beady eyes till they nearly disappeared in his layers of plentiful flesh. "Dallered's mum wouldn't be making any request when she's ten feet under."

The wizard dearly wished for the power of persuasion. "Let's just say that I know that his mother would want me to deliver this too him." Remembering the slip of paper still stuffed in the deep pocket of his cloak, he pushed it across the desk. 

Halbred frowned, muttering curses about midget over-lording clerks before he bad naturedly bashed a heavy stamp onto the parchment. He shoved it back to Fasse, a glower firmly twisting his flab. "Now get out, and don't wake me next time." 

Again, Fasse was not allowed to ask any questions. With the withering scowl scorching him where he stood, the wizard scooted to the only door he saw. Three more doors could be seen at the end of a long narrow corridor. This passageway was much darker than the others he had passed through. The floor was scuffed and chipped in a few places. His steps echoed dully in the hallway. They sounded almost tired and worn out. 

How many times Fasse had been faced with decisions in the past hour, he wasn't sure. But he was sure that it had been too many times. At least this time he actually remembered what he was looking for, if not what door. His instructions had been for the door that would have a stairway leading down from the top. Unfortunately, all of the doors had a stairway. Just his luck. 

Using a process of elimination starting at the right, he skittered down one stairway then back up. The first two led to nothing but some storage rooms, there was no Dallered the jail keeper. So using his astute mind, he guess the last door was the right one. _Finally_, he sighed. It sure had taken him long enough. 

But upon, descending the stairway, he found that there was no Dallered here either. The room, though he wouldn't really call it a room but a closet, boasted of only a desk and a chair in their crudest forms. To the left was another long open stairway that curved, obstructing his view. Though he hardly needed vision to tell what was unfolding in the prisons below. 

---

Legolas feinted with a slight dip of his shoulders, cleanly missing the clumsy swipe of the blunt end of a spear. He could not, however, explain the abrupt fiery agony that seared in his side. Hadn't he dodged that blow? His hand instinctively pressed to his side, dislodging the hilt of the knife that bit into his side. For a horrible moment he lost all concentration and stumbled, nearly causing him further injury. It was Aragorn, pressing firmly against his back that brought him back to the moment. He willed himself to push aside the pain, until Aragorn and himself were well gone from this place. 

Unaware of the injury Legolas had taken, Aragorn parried blow after blow with the unrefined and cumbersome weapon forged by the men of Eregion. "Can you break to the stairs yet?" He asked, as loudly as he dared. 

"Aye, just tell me when." 

Aragorn gauged their tiring opponents. "How about…now." He felt Legolas push off his back, catapulting through the thin human barricade surrounding them. Using the gap Legolas had provided, he backpedaled from the confining ring of men before twisting to high-tail it up the flight of steps. 

Legolas lunged up the steps by three, the enraged shouts of Nevens echoing up the long passage behind them. The clatter and banging of the men in hot pursuit followed closely. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he made sure that Aragorn had escaped safely. Seeing the ranger at his heels, he was much relieved, daring to hope that events had taken a turn for the better, despite the pain still throbbing in his side. He had spared the time yet to see the extent or cause of the wound, and he did not spare the precious little time they had now. 

Allowing the fading vestiges of adrenaline to goad him on, he sprang nimbly up the last few steps…to run smack into Fasse. 

---

Fasse squeaked in fright as a russet clad, flaxen haired body bolted into him. He was only mildly appeased at the yelp it gave. Both were sent tumbling. Strider was next to trip over their tangled knot. "Flaming Valaraukar! Don't frighten me so! What do you think you're doing being rescued without me? I was supposed to do that!" Fasse raved, obviously not hearing – or at least no comprehending – the angered shouts echoing up the long staircase. 

Strider pulled the wizard to his feet. "Fasse, now is not the time!" 

Legolas pulled himself to his feet painfully, his side aching from the impact. Thankfully, no one noticed his distress. That was probably due to the raging faces tearing around the corner of the stairway. "Run!" he cried to the wizard, barely having enough breath.

Fasse squealed, stumbling back as the men converged on them. He raised the closest thing to a weapon he had. The wrapped elongated package he had brought as a bribe for the jailer, cracked open upon the head of the unlucky assailant that just happened to be Dallered, the jailer, spilling crimson liquid over the balding head. Dallered had gotten his wine after all. 

Aragorn pushed the stunned wizard back up the last flight of stairs, Legolas close behind. He failed to notice that the elf was lagging. Hauling the wizard back to his feet before he could fall on his face after tripping on his tattered cloak, Aragorn hurtled up the stairs. Only a little farther and they would reach the door to freedom. What lay outside, he was not entirely sure since they had been tightly blindfolded when brought in. All he knew was that they had taken many turns and ascended and descended many steps. Their hope would – regretfully – lie in Fasse's memory of how he got in. 

That was not the most comforting, or assuring, thought he had. 

****

TBC…

__

A/N: No cliffie there that I can see really. Though to y'all you might see something different! Sorry for the wait and the super short chapter, but you know how it goes during the holidays when your brain just kind of freezes…

But wow! 32 review in the space of 6 chapters! That's a big record for me! Compare it to some of the super authors here though and it kind of deflates, but it's still big to me. Thanks you guys!

E – Thanks for the review! Yours came at a wonderful time when you're at that point where you really aren't getting any feedback. It helped me to finish this part up and get it to you. So sorry about the wait!

Guardianofthecards – LOL! Short and sweet!

Larus – Hm…I think it is a conspiracy. A fun conspiracy at that as well! I'm glad you didn't resort to lodging needles in my hide or anything.

Legilmalith - Rambling is good in a review! Really lets me know that they were paying attention ***eye roll***. Just kidding ***wink***. I can't say I really say anything more of worth for your story, no matter how much I enjoy it. You can't really say I'm an accomplished reviewer though I've done it who knows how many times. 

Phoenix Ice – Ewwww, mushy…So glad, I would hate for it to come out gooshy and such. ***Throws Phoenix a big wooly coat*** Stay warm and don't freeze so you can keep sending such wonderful feedback! Thanks so much for the compliments. 

Layfield – Great to have you! Our ranger can be a bit 'childish' at times can't he? I mean the guy can't be all seriousness if he grew up with the twins, now could he? Well you know me, I'm a sucker for action!

Gwyn – ***Cowers*** Don't beat me! And you thought that last wait was long! I'm so relieved that at least someone didn't threaten me because of the cliffie. Though I'm not sure how you will react with my…em…treatment of Legolas. Give me a break! At least I don't poison him or do some other cruel treatment in EVERY chapter.

Jocelyn - ***Gaps at the screen*** EEEE! This is like having Tolkien send me feedback on my story, or George Bush or something! Lol, I know, I know, you're supposed to be all cool and calm when a 'celebrity' reviews your stuff….;) That part, with Legolas and Aragorn conversing about being cold in the last chapter was one of my favorite parts to write in the whole thing so far. It was just one of those parts that's just such a blast. ***Waggles a finger*** Now that I've put this up, get that next part of 'A Little Nudge Out the Door' out!!!

Thanks again all! I'll shut up now…


	8. Through the Window

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence) 

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing, I don't know much about Eregion or, Hollin, so I'm kind of winging it from what I do know (that isn't much). 

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

__

Part 8

_____________

Legolas grasped his side tightly, trying to distill the distracting pain from his mind so he could focus on the task at hand, running. His other hand gripped his knife tightly, much to their relief, they had found their weapons leaning idle against the wall. It felt good to feel the cool handle against his skin. Along with their weapons, they had recovered their light satchels. It seemed that all Hollin had come out chasing them. Their trailing pack of aggressors kept growing. 

Ahead, Aragorn prodded the uncertain wizard on. Clearly, Fasse hardly had a clue of how to get out. It was only by the blessing of Illuvitar that they had not run into any dead ends yet. He hated to be a skeptic, but it was only a matter of time.

Thankfully, Illuvitar was kind again, allowing their dead end to come at an opportune time when the shouts of the men had faded back as they lost their weaving trail. "We're lost, aren't we?" sighed Aragorn, leaning a shoulder against the wall. 

Fasse sunk onto a crate, stamped 'fragile'. Mournfully, he moaned in despair, "Deary, deary! 'Tis not my fault that those blasted beasts chased us here! Oh woe and disappear! we will be forever stuck in here."

"No, they're more likely to find us and kill us," Aragorn said. The wizard let out a howl of fright. Aragorn clamped a hand firmly over the shaggy mouth. "That will not help matters." Fasse whimpered, settling himself for moaning quietly and huddling disparagingly on his box. Aragorn's eyes searched every corner for a way out, other than venturing out into the hall again. Unfortunately, these Hollin men were not the sort for secret entries. By the way things were going, it was looking more and more that they would have to leave the same way they came in, wherever that may be. "Legolas, what does your elf eyes see?" In the silence following, Aragorn thought that the elf was surveying the walls and ceiling, but the elf did not speak. Aragorn straightened from where he crouched, turning to where the elf sat. "Legolas?" 

Legolas, in question, knelt hunched over his knees, trying to subdue the angry burning in his side before Aragorn noticed. His effort had been in vain. The ranger was at his side, clasping his shoulder worriedly. Leave it to the man to fret over a minor wound. 

Aragorn hissed a curse. This was not what they needed, especially at a time like this! He kicked himself mentally. Blaming Legolas for being hurt was hardly right, or helpful. He severely doubted the elf would seek pain, but then again, elves were strange folk. "Must you always be so heroic, crazy elf?" 

If Legolas heard him, the elf didn't respond. He was finding it more profitable to remain hunched in a tight, motionless, ball. He would heal, the pain would pass, this was nothing, he reasoned. The elven prince would have said as much to the worried Dúnadan, if he could have found the breath. Half-heartedly, he tried swatting aside the hands seeking to dislodge his other hand from where it clutched the wound. His only result was causing himself more discomfort. 

"You stupid, block-headed creature," Aragorn muttered angrily when he finally pulled Legolas's hands away. "Fasse, watch the door, tell me if you hear _anything._" The elf took Strider's momentary distraction as an opportunity to scoot away to safety. He didn't get far before the ranger clasped him firmly by the shoulder, holding him at bay. "You stay there. I'm not finished with you." 

"I am," Legolas forced out between gritted teeth. "I'm just fine," _wince_, _muffled groan_, "now leave me," _not so muffled groan_, "be." 

For good measure, Aragorn poked the elf's wounded side a little harder than need be with the cloth he was using to clean the wound. Legolas clinched his fists, looking very much like he was ready to pummel his _former_ friend. "You're lucky." 

Legolas pressed his eyes shut, willing the discomfort to leave him. "And pray tell why that is?" 

Aragorn ripped a long strip of cloth from the elf's cloak, then proceeded to wrap the wound tightly. He took his time before answering. "The knife – and don't you dare say you did this by tripping and gouging yourself on table – grazed over your ribs, hopefully missing any vital parts. Illuvitar knows, you wouldn't be plotting vengeance on me if your ribs hadn't been there." He tugged the last wrap tight, garnering an equally tight wince from the elf. "But don't think that gives you any right to go and fall off any cliffs, save any rangers, or anything else that would get you hurt, or shall I say further hurt." 

Legolas batted Aragorn's fretting hands aside. "You sound just like your father."

"It runs in the family," Aragorn smiled ruefully. "Can you walk? Or shall I have to carry you?" 

"I am just," Legolas struggled to gain his feet, it took longer, and was more painful that he would ever admit, "fine." The Dúnadan eyed the wavering elf cynically. He would just have to trust Legolas until the elf fell over. 

Fasse squeaked behind them, his small eyes widened. Aragorn noticed that he no longer needed intelligible words from the wizard to get the gist of what the shaggy Istar was trying to convey. Whether that was a good thing, he was not entirely sure. "Quick now, we have to leave before they come back and figure out where we have holed up." 

Ears attuned for footsteps, the three stole from the room. The corridor was empty, but the unnerving thing was there was no way of knowing where they were, where they were going, and whether the next door would lead to a room full of hostile Hollin men. It was a gamble, but all of them wanted to get out of this building and on with their job. So far, and for a good while longer, things went suspiciously well. Fasse had even said he recognized where they were. But that was part of the start of their troubles. 

"I'm positive, I am! There's a monster in that room, he's as skinny as a twig, but don't let that fool you," Fasse rasped. "He'll for sure know that we've escaped and he'll have my beard shorn off and my head…"

"Fasse!" Legolas hissed. "Calm yourself. Worrying will get us nowhere. It will only make things worse." He gripped the panicking wizard's shoulders. "Listen to me, do you have any idea where to go after that room?" Fasse shook his head miserably. The elf gritted his teeth, keeping his temper at bay. "Aragorn, wandering aimlessly isn't doing us any good." 

"Then what would you suggest, Legolas?" Aragorn said, his tone clipped. 

"Let me go ahead and find a way out, there will be less chance of me being seen." Legolas reasoned urgently. 

The ranger shook his head adamantly. "No, I'm not letting you do that again. Last time you suggested that I had to save you from a Dunland prison." 

"Aragorn, what else would you have us do, wander blindly back into captivity? I'll be fine." 

"I've heard that far too much this day." Frustration boiled in the ranger, frustration because he knew that the elf was right. 

"I have to do this. It's the only reasonable way." 

Aragorn's temper flared. "And if I don't let you, will you knock me out again and send me back to Rivendell?" 

"Why won't you let that go?" Legolas clinched his fists. "I had to do that as well. Admit it." His tone softened, "Strider, don't worry, I will be careful." 

Aragorn's brow furrowed, he clasped the elf's shoulders tightly, shaking him gently. "Promise me you won't do anything heroic? Promise?"

Legolas smiled softly, "You worry too much, Strider. I said I'd be careful." 

"You said, that doesn't always mean you are," he groused. Aragorn heaved a breath, "Please don't do anything stupid." 

Legolas grinned cheekily, "Me? Do anything stupid? Gah, never!" He reluctantly unfastened the quiver and bow from his back, handing them to the man. "Somehow I think I would be to easily seen if I hauled these around." Taking his long knife, he tucked it into the folds of his cloak, carefully out of sight. "Now stay here, and keep out of trouble." 

Aragorn watched the elf slip down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows. Pulling Fasse into an empty room, he wondered what devilry had convinced him to let Legolas do this thing. 

---

Fasse's monster had proven to be not quite as fearsome as he had described. The lanky clerk sat stiffly behind his desk, though Legolas could not see the clerk's face, he could imagine a flattened nose from the grating breathing. Unfortunately the clerk also sat facing the most plausible door in the room. But many things were possible with the silent steps of elven feet. It took only a small distraction to provide a way for Legolas to slip through the door without the clerk noticing. Getting back in would be harder. 

Once through the doorway, Legolas ducked close to the wall. As it was night in Hollin, it was mostly empty except for the few late workers. But apparently the guardsmen had yet to give up their search for the demon elf, the old man and the strange human. Below, prowling from door to door, sought the men. They had barred all entrances from the large hall, making any escape without confrontation impossible. That is _nearly_ impossible. There was still at least one exit unguarded. It was high and made of glass. The trick would be getting up there. With furtive movements, Legolas crept to the end of the balcony, keeping low. 

Crouching next to the railing, he watched carefully the activity below. The window was high set in the stone wall, square and relatively large with a ledge wide enough for one to sit almost comfortably. 

His lips twitched in a shadow of a smile of satisfaction. At least he knew the way out, and even how to escape from this wretched labyrinth. Now all he needed was the materials. He retraced his steps by way of the shadows, back to the door. Only here did he rise to his full height. Banishing all trepidation, he wrapped firmly on the door. What better guise than to walk in without fear or slinking, under the pretension that he was no more than a visitor?

There was a scuffle of papers, and the creak of a chair before a disgustingly nasal voice called him in, sounding quite put off at the disturbance. Shoulders back, a pleasant smile wreathing his face, he entered. The clerk blinked in confusion, his mouth gapping like a fish out of water. "You're a…you're that…"

"Elf? Yes, you would be quite correct in that assumption, a tribute to your common sense. You needn't fear me at all, I'm just here to tie a few things up." 

The bony clerk hadn't but blinked, than when he opened his eyes, his hands were tied securely behind his back with his own shirt tail, his feet secured to the chair legs, and his mouth gagged with the long kerchief that had formerly been draped about his neck. 

The elf was gone. And so was his letter opener. 

---

Aragorn paced the room that they had holed up in. This reminded him far too much of Dunland. Again he was bound to waiting with no other choice. It was no less than infuriating. 

Fasse huddled in a corner, chewing on a scraggly strand of his beard. He muttered strange words to himself, words that Aragorn had never heard before, but sounded as if they were said in another tongue. Perhaps he was trying to work up some food spell. 

The Dúnadan resisted the urge to slam his fist through a wall, lest he reveal their hiding place. "Curse it all, where is that elf?" 

"He's only been gone but a few minutes, Strider." 

Aragorn turned angrily on the small Istar. "And how would you know?" 

"I've been counting." 

The ranger grunted in barely restrained frustration. He couldn't stand this anymore, he had to go out there. His hand gripped the door handle, tugging it open. Or would have tugged it open if it hadn't flown open on its own accord, sending Aragorn stumbling back. 

"_Mae govannen, Aragorn Arathornion_!" laughed Legolas, after closing the door softly. "Going somewhere?" 

"By Elbereth, I'm sure you will be the death of me one of these days." 

The elf laughed again, "Surely, I thought it would be the other way around?" 

Aragorn shook his head reprovingly, "By the smug look on your face, I guess your mission was successful?"

Legolas blinked at the man, as if the very idea of him failing was preposterous. "Completely. I just need a few things." With no other words, the elf set to bending what looked to be a letter opener in the crack of the door, leaning his weight against the hilt. 

"As if with your weight you could bend a stick. Legolas, you're going to hurt yourself doing that. Let me do it, whatever you're doing." He held up a finger when the elf opened his mouth, ready to form his well-known words. "And don't even think about saying that you're fine."

The elven prince pursed his lips, piercing Aragorn with an uncomfortable stare – on Aragorn's part – that would have sent most men, and elves into fits of quakes. Aragorn while in the company of elves, had since become immune to elven stares. Never-the-less, Legolas stepped back, allowing Aragorn to take his place. "Just do what you must, I wish to be free of these dark walls and to be on with our task." 

He chose to ignore Fasse's grumble of, "You make your 'task' sound like a bad thing." 

"Falmarin will never forgive me for leaving him alone like this for so long," Legolas spoke aloud, more to himself than anyone else. Unintentionally, his words had prodded a yet aching wound on Aragorn's heart he had only just started to heal from. Aragorn's hands clinched tighter around the elegantly twisted handle of the letter opener, the lines of his faces tightening. The elf noticed this change, realizing what he had said. "Aragorn, I'm sorry, I…" he fumbled for the words to say. 

Aragorn shook his head. "It is no fault of yours, friend." He pushed the hilt fiercely after a brief pause. "It takes so little to, to make me remember. It was only an innocent remark." He tugged the blade from the crack, handing it to Legolas, the blade now bent in the shape of a sharp hook. By the slight smile on Legolas's face, he guessed he had bent it correctly. Aragorn sat silently beside Fasse, watching Legolas weave a strand of strong elvish rope he had salvaged from his satchel around and through the twisted handle. _Twisted, just how he had failed to save Ralamir. Aye, it was a twisted fate._

He was roused from his thoughts, to Legolas shaking his shoulder urgently. The elf's voice sounded tense. "Aragorn, we must leave. Someone is approaching." Legolas helped Fasse to his feet, shouldering on his quiver. "Once through that clerks station, there's a balcony overlooking a large chamber. Unfortunately, all doors are guarded down below. _Fortunately_, there's a window. Unfortunately, it's high. Fortunately, this," he dangled the fashioned grappling hook, "will get us up." The elf whirled suddenly, his body tense. "Quick! We must go before they find us."

But it was too late. Just as they blew out the door, the shouts of a company of men rang from close behind. The clerk moaned into his gag, his puffy eyes wide at the sight of the three fugitives fleeing past. Aragorn would have laughed at Legolas's work if situations had not been so dire. If Illuvitar granted, there would be time to laugh afterwards. Not bothering to use the door handle, he bowled it over with his shoulder, the hinges popping off like frogs on a lily pad. 

Legolas took the lead, forcing himself yet again to push aside the pain throbbing in his side. The window was just ahead. He started to swing the hook, the rest of the rope coiled in his left hand. He let the rope fly, praying that his aim with a hook was as true as his arrows. He only had time for one try. The hook crashed into the windowpane, shattering the glass and soaring downward. Internal instinct waited until he felt it bounce against the outside wall, then he pulled. The hook caught. 

He leapt. His feet hit the wall climbing. With elven agility that would sicken every mortal, he made it up the wall in record time, pulling himself up onto the ledge. Aragorn had already pushed Fasse as high as he could on the rope. Legolas heaved the wizard up by the rope, his lightly shod feet finding invisible grips and foot holds on the far from roomy ledge. 

The men were closing in on Aragorn down below, from the chamber on ground level, guardsmen were already joining together and clambering up the stairs. Legolas had never been more grateful that they did not sport bows. If Aragorn could but get above the swords, and none of the men had skill enough to throw a knife – accurately at least – then maybe, just maybe they would get out. 

With one last heave, he pulled Fasse up onto the ledge. Looking down again he saw that Aragorn was cornered below, the men gave no quarter. There was only one thing to do. Two arrows thudded into the wood floor but a few inches from the closest man's toes. The ranks drew back, surprised and afraid. "Now, Aragorn!"

He had no need to speak, the ranger was already on the rope, Legolas helping him from above, while keeping a careful eye on the men. Already they were shouting and for backup to catch them outside. They were too late. Without a backward glance, Legolas, loosed the hook, and both man and elf launched themselves from the window. 

TBC…

__

A/N: Wow, looky there! I got that out a whole lot faster than I had originally planned. Special present for those of you who have stuck with this! I don't know when I'll get the next part finished though. Meep!

  
_I have to give a special thanks to my dear mother who has suffered through Beta-reading this and all my other junk…um I mean work. Yeah mom! You have a title! (Lol, inside joke.) Sorry E, I still have yet to get that horse action in. Don't worry, I'm nearly positive that that'll be coming in next chapter. Oh and Lily Frost, Fasse does squeal quite a bit doesn't he. I don't know, there's just something about little shaggy guys running around squeaking and squealing that I love. Cracks me up. ***Pats Fasse on the head*** I've never had such a good OC. _

Thanks again all who reviewed and took the time to read this!


	9. Back to the Snow

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence) 

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing, I don't know much about Eregion or, Hollin, so I'm kind of winging it from what I do know (that isn't much). 

****

Special Note: In this chapter I introduce the character Roheryn (though he was in earlier chapters unnamed). I introduce this Tolkien character differently than the way it is thought that Roheryn was given to Aragorn. Though I really don't like changing things from the way it really is, I have taken the liberty to say that Lady Arwen did NOT give Roheryn to Aragorn. I did however keep to having the horse be somehow connected to Arwen by the name. So please don't get mad at me for changing it. If PJ makes unnecessary changes…(so that doesn't make it right but…). This is fiction, I've said that a million times.

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

__

Part 9

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Falmarin, and the black struck a ghostly site flying down the shadowed streets, one glowing eerily, while the other bled into the black night like a gaping hole in the air. That is it was magnificent if you didn't notice Gorban lopping behind with Nienna goading him faster. The grey elvish horse had sensed his master. 

Then from the shadows materialized a group of men, torches raised. Falmarin screamed in rage at the inconvenience. He had no time for this delay! Two men drew near to quickly retreat again as two sharp hooves struck out. The black beside him pivoted sharply at Gorban's gasping bray. Three men had managed to throw a noose over the donkey's head, drawing back quickly and tightening to the rope tightly around the creature's neck. Gorban thrashed and pulled, bucking and fighting to be loose of the choking thing. The donkey rushed a man, butting his head forcefully into the unlucky mortal's chest, sending the man flying back. But again, the noose yanked him back. Gorban brayed in rage, one of the packs on his back caught his captor in the stomach, unfortunately ripping it off as it got caught. But the result was the man's grip loosened just enough to allow the donkey to pull away, aided by the teeth of the black. 

Falmarin had had enough. The elvish horse drew back on his hocks, muscles coiling like iron rope. Never had any man in all Hollin witnessed a horse leap the way that Falmarin did.

---

For a moment, for all the time that Legolas had to think, he regretted having not surveyed the safety of the fall. But in that same split second, he knew he needn't worry about a thing. With a sharp twist, he landed faultlessly astride Falmarin. The snort that the grey chastised him with sounded absolutely peeved. No doubt, the horse had already sensed his rider's injury and was preparing a scathing lecture. 

Aragorn landed likewise, though on whom, he was not entirely sure. The horse was foreign to him, yet…yet there was a feeling, a feeling of strange familiarity. For the present he pushed the thought aside as best he could. The black shifted, balancing the rider carefully and precisely, almost undetectably. 

Fasse did land in one piece at least, though not quite with the finesse of his two counterparts. The breath was knocked out of his lungs with an audible whoosh when he landed draped across Gorban's bony back like a sack of potatoes. The lumpy donkey brayed, suddenly twisting his head and hitting something hard against the wizard's noggin. Fasse yelped, grabbing at the article, then realizing that it was his staff chortled nervously in abashed thanks. His chortle turned quickly into a frightened howl as the lumpy donkey lunged off at an awkward gallop after the two larger horses with Fasse clinging desperately to his back. 

Already lights were flickering to life in the small huts and shops as the ruckus woke villagers. Bringing their candles and lamps to the windows, they peered out with wide eyes at the sight of the horses and riders tearing down the snow and mud churned lane with the shouts of men following. But their rage was in vain, as the speed of the horses was not to be matched by any in all Hollin save the horse that Nevens had lost to the elf. 

Nevens, at that very moment stood shaking on the stairs of the manor. The small man screamed at the hapless guards to ride out and find the elf, but his power would be short lived. 

"Master Nevens, you are relieved of your duties." A much taller man, with a voice deeper than the mines of Moria commanded the former horsetrader's thoughts. 

Nevens turned slowly to face the highest official in this certain settlement of Eregion. "Sir! What are you doing here?" 

"You allowed the elf and man to escape and so you have failed in your duties." The powerful man motioned another to his side. "Bind this man, I will decide his punishment in the morning." 

And so you could say that this was the untimely and abrupt end of Nevens' part in this tale. He was condemned for betrayal to his people, but then later after a death of old age, some said he had been framed. Twisted isn't it? 

---

The snow lay nestled in the crooks of the bare branches of the trees, and strewn in an even blanket as deep as the horses' cannon bones. It was a blessing that it was only this deep. If the winter turned out to be harsh as expected, then they would need to travel with all haste. 

Situations were definitely not for the best, and yet not for the worse. They had taken stock of their supplies, finding that half of their gathered items had been ripped from Gorban's pack. Still, they were not completely without supplies. By Aragorn's approximation, they were around two weeks out of the borders of Rohan. Unspoken, but known to Legolas, that was adding in potentially bad weather. They did not speak of it for Fasse's sake. The wizard was frazzled enough by their near escape. Morning had risen, shadowed by heavy clouds. They might have been free of the iron bars of the prison of the town, but they had yet to be free of the wild. 

Aragorn settled into the easy jog, the black kept easily at, despite the snow. If he closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to drift, he could almost imagine he was back on Ralamir, jogging easily through the meadows near Imladris. The black's gate felt so much like his Ralamir had…

Legolas noticed the shift in his friend's demeanor. The warring feelings drifted plainly across Aragorn's face. The elf could not determine whether it was for the better or for the worse. It seemed that the man was lost in thought and memories from the smile that touched the corners of his lips at times. Legolas knew that look well. "Are your thoughts ever attuned to the Lady?" 

Aragorn looked at his friend, who bore knowing grin. "Why would make you think that?" 

Legolas laughed. Falmarin snorted. "Just the dreamy look in your eyes, and the slouched posture." 

The ranger subconsciously straightened. "You know me too well, Master Elf." He leaned forward in the saddle, which had previously been born by Ralamir, patting the black's neck. 

"What shall you call him?" Legolas nodded to the horse. He watched Aragorn's reaction to his question closely, fearing that the man would not accept this friendship the horse offered him. 

Strider pondered this, then smiled lightly. "Roheryn, I think." 

Legolas let out a cry of indignation. "You cannot be serious, Estel! You are speaking of a horse, man, not a scarf." Falmarin twitched his ears. 

"A horse would be a proud bearer of such a title," Aragorn defended. 

"I do not think the Lady Arwen would find it such an honor that you thought a horse worthy of being named after her." He held up a hand, begging the black's forgiveness, "I mean no offense against you, understand."

"Of course she would, you know as well as I that the Lady is a lover of horses." 

Legolas could not help but laugh. "You are a strange man, Estel. But he is your horse now and it is to be your choice. Roheryn it is. At least you did not name him Arwen." Roheryn tossed his head, whickering deeply, pleased, whatever the meaning, to have a name. Any friend of the elf would be his master. 

---

The snow had begun to fall again after a short respite. It was not a heavy fall, but it forebode of worsening weather. Fasse huddled atop Nienna, Legolas's cloak wrapped tightly around him. If the elf said he didn't need it, who was he to pass up an extra source of warmth? With his staff across his knees, he struck a pitiful sight. At least there had been no more wild beasts. That is, of course, besides the three horses and Gorban. At least they weren't continuously trying to gobble him. He hoped that as long as the elf and the man were here to hold the carnivorous beasts back he might be able to sleep, for a short time at least. 

The dull light of day had been short lived. Already the grey, dreary illumination had faded to near total darkness. Aragorn had yet to call a halt, much to Fasse's dismay, saying that when yet he could see the way, even in the dimmest light, he would not stop. "I have no desire to become a frozen artifact to be stumbled upon some thousand years from now." 

But eventually, even to Aragorn's near faultless tracking, it became too hard to see even Roheryn's ears in front of him. He dare not risk becoming lost, or walking in circles. Reluctantly, they took shelter beside the hallow of a fallen oak. They dug in beside it, carving out a nest in the snow just large enough for the three to huddle close. Aragorn noticed with slight amusement that Legolas looked none too thrilled at the prospect of spending the night in such close contact with two very, pungent, individuals. The elf had wrinkled his nose ever so slightly and volunteered, a bit too eagerly, to take the watch for the night. 

"Grub and toenails, 'tis cold tonight!" Fasse astutely observed. He frowned when he noticed that the elf had yet to reclaim his cloak. Hesitantly, he drew the cloak off from around his hunched shoulders, wading stiffly through the snow, laying the elvish raiment beside Legolas. 

The elf shook his head, pushing the garment back to the shivering wizard. "Keep it, I have no need of it." 

Fasse blinked, then blinked again. "But won't you?" 

The elven prince smiled and laughed, warming Fasse's heart. "Nay, friend, must I remind you that I am an elf?" 

The wizard apparently did not understand the significance. He had heard tell that elves were not as susceptible to the mortal feeling of unpleasant cold or uncomfortable warmth. He had even been witness to a small degree of it in his short travels with Legolas. But, it was _really_ cold! "But wouldn't your wound at least, eh, downgrade your special-ness a smidgen?"

Legolas chuckled, squeezing the fuddled wizard's arm. "Don't ask, just take it. I've already had this discussion with Strider." Legolas rolled his eyes at the snort that came from the direction of the ranger. 

Well, Fasse certainly wouldn't argue if the elf _wanted_ to be cold. 

---

Much to all of their great relief, that night was absent of any warg attacks, men seeking to imprison them or any other 'adventures'. Legolas also reported happily that he had sensed nothing that was amiss in the woodland, besides of course that the snows had come far too early. They rose before the dreary dawn when the white land was still hidden from the whisper of the sun. Aragorn brewed a pot – an item that Fasse had insisted upon bringing for which they were all grateful - of tea from melted snow. It was bitter to the tongue, but it warmed the body, unfreezing Fasse's stiff joints. 

Unfortunately for Legolas, Aragorn forbade them from continuing until he had checked over Legolas's injury. The elf franticly tried to shove off the man's hands, trying to reason with Aragorn that he, was "just fine". But the ranger would not be put off, and the elf had witnessed his friends stubborn resolution – rivaling the elf prince's father - when it came to the health of his companion. 

Finally, after ten minutes of arguing, Aragorn appeased and satisfied called for them to start the day's long leg. 

Legolas was the envy of Aragorn and Fasse. He sat tall and proud atop Falmarin, clad lightly in his usual raiment of free moving material. Why could he not even get goosebumps?

"The air changes, Aragorn." The elf cast his eyes to the angered sky. "No longer does it forebode of ill weather, it heralds it." 

"Then we will continue to proceed with all haste, turning back is not an option now, I fear. The Hollin men will be watchful for our retreat from the elements." Aragorn joined Legolas's gaze to the horizon, as they passed from the scant cover of trees. "If this weather holds and does not worsen dramatically, we may reach the ruins of Tharbad by tonight. There we may find some shelter for the night." Aragorn nudged Roheryn into a slow jog, the strong horse plowing a way for the followers. In his mind he mapped the course they would take. It would have to remain much the same as the way he had planned before leaving the haven of Imladris. He would not hazard cutting through Dunland from their position. It would be foolish to try and spare a few hours with the threat of running into the hostile folk of that land. He could feel Legolas's eye on his back, awaiting his decision. "From there we will join the Old South Road." 

Legolas's shoulders stiffened unconsciously. Why was it that his heart shivered from a black breath at the prospect of passing so close to Isengard? Was the wizard, Saruman, not a friend to the free peoples, why should he feel ill towards the Istar? Yet something did quake within him, whispering a warning in his mind. He did his best to push it aside, knowing that all his fears and feelings could not be accurate. After all, he was but a prince, and a trivial one at that. With the rate at which the Firstborn were leaving the shores of Middle-earth, he would most likely never need to bear the weight of kingship. 

The elf twisted a strand of Falmarin's mane in his fingers, absentmindedly. Whatever it was, he prayed that his feelings were misgiving thoughts due to the hard journey. He laughed inwardly, maybe he could even blame it on his wound. 

****

TBC…

A/N: No cliffhanger this time. But seeing as how you guys always see cliffhangers and I don't…who knows! Thanks for all the kind reviews!


	10. A Crack in the Armor

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence) 

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! 

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

__

Part 10

_____________

It was by Aragorn's reckoning four hours till midnight when the travelers finally found safe harbor in the ruins of Tharbad. The once flooded city cowered, broken and deserted at the meeting of the Glanduin and the Mitheithel where the Old South Road crossed. Though throughout the day the weather had held to an even dusting of continuous snow, it was night when the real winter broke its chains and let loose with a vengeance. 

Aragorn laid his back against the cold stone, his feet warming beside the fire. The three nestled in the shelter of one of the last remnants of a stone building. The roof had since been washed away or simply deteriorated, but the walls provided ample shelter from the driving, white fury. Fasse's heavy breathing in his slumber, the crackle of the fire and the occasional shift of the horses' hooves were all that was to be heard besides the lonesome howling of the wind. 

He was in a dreary mood, brought on by the many bad turns of events that they had been plagued with since leaving Rivendell. These things were never meant to happen. Legolas wasn't meant to get hurt protecting him. Ralamir wasn't meant to die protecting him. 

__

And Elrond said that I would be a leader, a king, the savior of a failing people, he mocked himself. _I could not even protect my own dear horse, and he would have me protect thousands of people. _He wasn't meant to be a leader. Whatever his path was, it couldn't lie on the way that Elrond foretold of. 

"My father always chastised me that doubt springs from self-pity." The elf spoke softly beside him, seeing the thoughts of his friends mind that only and Eldar could. "You carry the fate of your people, Aragorn, and for that you pity yourself." 

Aragorn was taken aback at Legolas's softly spoken, but scathingly piercing words. Naturally, walls barricaded his heart and mind, defending himself from unpleasant words. The ranger drew back physically, something within him snapping in defense. "Pity? I do not pity myself. It is for the people of Gondor that I pity! Do not make me out to be, to be as…"

Legolas remained seated, his back to the stone, his expression placid. Blue eyes reflected the dancing firelight, revealing within them wisdom harvested by long years of mistakes and failures. "To be Isildur? Is that who you shun and fear to mirror? How long will you run from phantom ghosts that cannot, and will not, claim you? Oh, Aragorn Arathornion, in all the long years I have known you, through all the battles we have fought, do you still not understand that evil will not diminish until what is good and pure has faced it?" 

Aragorn stumbled back, pressing a hand to the stone wall, balancing himself, averting his face from the eyes boring into him, eyes that belayed the elf's youthful features. Beneath tightly shuttered eyes, the heir of Isildur wept. "But I will fail."

Amidst the wailing moans of the blizzard, silent tears never fell to burn the snow. Pearls of grief, long held hidden, fell upon the shoulder of Legolas Greenleaf. 

---

Three days had passed since that night. They traveled down the Old South Road, making the best time they could in the foul weather. The horses labored bravely on, reluctantly having to be led by their riders through deep drifts. The air was frigid, and it was taking its toll upon all of them, including the elf. 

Legolas, having been alive for over at least close to two thousand years, had very few new experiences. And it was perhaps the first time in a long time – to a mortal's standards - that an elf had experienced this feeling. 

It was bitterly horrible, his joints moved with agonizingly sluggish movements. It was as if he was being devoured from the inside out by some unseen and unconquerable force that sought to take control of his body. It made every old wound he thought perfectly healed, not to mention the still tender slash in his side, ache as if it had been reopened brutally.

He was cold.

No, he corrected himself, he was freezing. 

It was only by the white vale of snow that Aragorn did not see the growing quake of his limbs. And it was only by Aragorn's description of this new feeling that Legolas could identify what he was suffering from. 

But it was also by Legolas's explanation and reassurance in the prison of the Hollin town that Aragorn did not spare a glance at his friend.

Time passed sluggishly in a colorless void. All the white of Middle-earth would surely run out in time, and some other color would take its place. Fasse shivered, his shoulders quivering like a mouse in a gale. He hugged what cloak could be spared around him and over his head, his shaggy eyebrows frosted over with snow and his beard sported miniature icicles. In all truth he could say that _this_ time was indeed the most miserable-est he had ever been in his long, stiff years. But through the frozen, sluggish movements of his brain, he, in fact, was the one that noticed the change in their elven companion. It was understandable since Aragorn directed all his energies on guiding them along the snow-covered road, careful not to stray from the unseen path. Fasse on the other hand, had nothing to do besides shiver and put one foot in front of the other – which was quite enough to do in his mind. 

"Ara…arago…rn…" the wizard chattered, but his words were stolen away by a gust of zealous wind. Fasse shifted his small eyes – yes, they were cold too – back to the elf. The toiling elven prince, clad as always in his light clothing, pushing through the ever growing drifts of snow, alternately guiding Nienna, Falmarin and Gorban. But something was wrong, and even in his somewhat clogged brain, Fasse could tell this. Elves didn't shiver, neither were they supposed to clutch their sides or rub their arms for warmth or give any sign of weakness. Elves just were not supposed to do things, mortal things, like that. 

Fasse tried to put the worry out of his mind. Surely Aragorn would notice if things were amiss with the elf. The two seemed to share a subconscious knowledge of what the other was doing, or how he faired, he had seen it before. His eyes _must_ be deceiving him.

He knew that he had made a terrible error in not trying harder to draw the ranger's attention when a good ten minutes later he looked back to where the elf had been, to see that now there was only Gorban and Nienna.

---

Falmarin screamed in desperation, his cries hardly leaving his throat before they were swept away, never to reach even his own sharp ears. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong! His master…he knew naught what to do. The grey horse lowered a frosty muzzle to touch the frozen cheek of his elf, trying to warm the clammy skin with his breath. He nudged again and again, his action growing rougher with his nervousness. But his elf didn't move, remaining cold and lifeless in the equally freezing snows. 

The others had gone ahead. They had not heard his whickering when his elf had collapsed. They had left. Should he leave, try to find the others, or should he remain by his elf's side? What if he lost his master to the snows? Why wouldn't his master rise and guide him? He understood now how Ralamir had felt when he had taken Aragorn back to the wizard's lair, alone. They were horses, not meant to lead, but to obey and to guide from behind, not before! 

Falmarin raised his head, whinnying with all his might. The horse pawed around his elf in frustration, careful not to hit him. Already his master was sinking into the white depths. The white was seeking to claim his elf! He would not allow it, he could not allow it! 

Falmarin's knees dipped to the ground first, the rest of his body following, lying himself as close as he dared to his master. With his soft muzzle, he rolled the elf close to his warm body. His elf was cold, his elf was never cold. Why would his elf not open his eyes? 

The loyal horse curled his body as best he could around his elf, twitching his full tail to cover all he could. Through the haze of white, the horse could hardly be seen, his grey coat melding in with his light, empty surroundings. Who knew how long Falmarin lay there, nickering softly into his elf's ear, breathing warm breath over pale frozen limbs, begging the his master to come back. His pleas went unanswered and unheeded. 

---

"Aragorn! Stop! Oh by Melkor's nose, stop!" 

Aragorn whirled, Fasse's frantic cries finally reaching his ears. Roheryn let forth a deep bugle that could only barely be heard, the black's eyes noticing something before the ranger did. 

"Legolas…" wheezed Fasse. "He's…not there…anymore!" 

Strider needed only for Fasse to breathe the first hints of Legolas's name for him to realize that the elf no longer toiled beside them. "How long ago did you last see him?" The ranger shouted, trying to be heard over the sudden violent surge of wind. 

"Not but a few moments ago," Fasse forced from between chattering teeth. "He can't be far back. We have to go back!" 

It was getting harder and harder to see by the minute. The land was a white waste, devouring every living thing it could. His friend was out there, somewhere in that void, if Fasse thought that he would leave Legolas to the wild, then the wizard had still the basics to learn about him. "Come with me Fasse, to split up would be our folly. Stay close and do not stray." 

It was a cold work, thrusting back through the snow. The path that they had just formed was already disappearing as new snow fell to cover the disturbance, making any rational tracking nearly impossible. The light footfalls of an elf would be covered within the span of a breath. Even Falmarin's deeper prints were non-existent. 

Step after heavy step they forced each other on, desperate to find their elvish companion. They hoped with all they had that Legolas had gotten lost in a blast of white air and lost sight of them. This was because with sinking hearts they knew with awful certainty they would have found him by now if he had fallen where he stood. Now _they_ were lost in the swirling tumult. 

If they had been traveling in the trees as they had been in days past, it would not have been so difficult to find the road, but traveling in open plain-land with the land covered in a blanket of snow as it was. There was no telling the South Road from the next hillock. They could hardly see their own hand in front of their faces.

Beside him he faintly heard Fasse's chattering teeth. The wizard's pale face blended with the white of the snow. The horses stood beside them, sheltering them best they could with their bodies. Yet their heads dipped, and with the light touch of a hand, fingers could count easily the number of ribs. His own head swam from the fatigue of hard travel. It seemed that they were without hope.

It was at this time, when all seemed bleakest, that Aragorn made a solemn resolution. This time, he _would not_ fail. It was not an option, and if there was no option, his only choice was to succeed. He would do everything in his power to make his father, and Legolas, proud of his actions, no matter how heart wrenching they were. Even when he heard the howl of a wolf, he did not waver from his conviction. 

"We must find shelter." Aragorn folded Nienna, Gorban and Roheryn's leads in his hands. Fasse looked surprised when the ranger tied a length of rope about the wizard's waste. "There is too much risk of losing each other," the ranger explained shortly.

Fasse blinked, his shaggy lips quivering from both cold and confusion. A strand of frozen beard almost magically found its way into his mouth, his teeth nervously chewing on it. "But Aragorn, that would mean going on! Leaving Legolas behind!" 

Aragorn barricaded his heart against Fasse's words. It would take so little to change his mind, so little. But he could not sway from his decision. "I know what my actions are, Fasse. But I have no choice! I can do nothing in this weather but make things worse. The horses are near collapsing, and so are you! We can do Legolas no good if _we_ are dead."

"But you cannot leave him! He might die while we seek refuge!" Fasse shouted over a blast of bitter wind and snow.

Aragorn grabbed the distraught wizard's shoulders. "He will not, Fasse. He will not!" he cried, clinging to hope and the faith that he still bore. "Legolas is stronger than you know and he will not let the weather claim him." Through the swirling snow, Aragorn saw the tear freeze on Fasse's cheek. "I will not abandon him and I will not leave him behind." His grasp tightened around the diminutive wizard's shoulders. "You must trust me." 

Hoping upon hope that they might stumble upon their elven friend, the floundered through the wrathful snow, with no clear idea of which direction they were going. They prayed with all their hearts that they were even going in the right direction. There was no sure assurance that they were not going back to the ruins of Tharbad. Their only one true assurance that they could lay their trust in. It was that whatever happened, would be what was meant to happen. Aragorn hoped that when all was done, he could still believe that. 

---

Falmarin's ears pricked forward, nostrils quivering. He remained upon his side, reluctant to remove the scant warmth he protected his elf with, but all senses alert. He knew that cry. It was neither human, dwarf, elf or orc, but beast. What breed of beast, he was not entirely sure, but it was either wolf, or a fell warg. Either one was not welcome. 

Again, the normally chilling howl drifted like a sad song carried reluctantly by a blast of wind that caught the snow, tossing it with malice into the face of the lone horse. There was a word in that cry, a word that was universal in all tongues of earth. _Lost_…_alone_…

The grey horse whickered softly, brushing his nose against his still elf's cheek. Oh, why would he not wake? Why had not the mortal man seen his friend's fall? Then, again, drifting and swirling with the snows, the lonesome lament of the wolf sounded in the growing darkness, closer now than before. The grey light of day was fading, already, pitching the vulnerable pair from blinding white, into the darkest night either had ever seen. Unfortunately, only one of the two was aware to see it. 

****

TBC…

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A/N: I'm not even going to say anything about cliffhangers anymore since you guys always find something to whine about! Lol, joking…joking. Guess I'll take this opportunity to send a big thank you out to you readers! As well as all you lurkers!

Gwyn - Well, was this the chapter you've been waiting for. Plenty of angst to go around. ;)

Camlost - Thanks for the very nice review. I hope you got my email replying to your question/mention/reminder. Good point! I shall have to be more careful of that in the future. I just get so edgy to get on with the story I forget all about that I…well…kind of stabbed him.

YunaDax – Thanks! It seems like more and more people are coming out as horse admirers/lovers. I just didn't think that there was enough horse stories out there while wrapping in our heroes

Silent Angel – Was this too long of a wait for you? I hope I got this out soon enough. Unfortunately, I really didn't think it was that great. Thanks for your comments!

ThE iNsAnE oNe – I do dearly love my Fasse. He's so huggible! I need to make a plushie thingy…

And thanks to JastaElf (what a supreme bummer that ff.net took your story off, just doesn't seem right!!), Eowyn Greenleaf, E, and all you others who have reviewed over the past chapters. You can't (and many of you can) believe how much it helps. Happy New Year in case I don't get around to updating before then.


	11. Saving Grace

****

NOTE: The one true God is not of this universe but has a direct hand and sovereign control over everything that occurs. He is not in nature, but His glory and mercy can be seen in all that He created. That is my authorial intent for this chapter and all of my stories, I pray that it comes across this way in this chapter, and all my stories. 

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! 

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

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Part 11

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The ensnaring darkness of the moonless night pressed in about the man and wizard. The horses dragged their feet, and the two travelers had lost count of how many times they had fallen as weakness drove them to their knees. It was by the grace of having each other's companionship that neither of them gave up. It was also for the ever-present ache in their minds that they must survive the burning cold for their lost companion. If they were to give up upon themselves now, Legolas would have no chance. 

Aragorn hauled Fasse to his feet again, stumbling himself as the wizard's weight sought to drag him down. Snow screamed around them, whipping into their faces like small pieces of gravel, stinging horribly and turning all exposed flesh raw. Each breath froze their lungs, making the simple act a trial that was nearly unbearable. All seemed bleak, and all hope lost. But then they saw something. 

It was not a light, as one would expect to shine as the embodiment of hope, no, it was quite the opposite, a black void, blacker even than the air around them. Even in their exhausted minds they knew that it must be the forest, and that meant shelter. 

It seemed as if they would never reach the shadowed forest as with each step their knees threatened to buckle beneath them. How long they stumbled forward, Aragorn was not sure, but it seemed in the fog of his mind that it was one step too many. It was with this last step that took them under the cover of the snow-laden canopy; it was at this last step that they could feel the immediate change, it was at this last step that both travelers fell and did not rise. 

---

Eerie yellow-green orbs shone by the light of an unknown source. Large they were, and full of a strange lonesome curiosity. Falmarin stood over his elf, hooves planted like the roots of an oak. His head was low, staring into the eyes with malice only an elvish horse could muster. He was confused by what he saw; confused and disquieted. 

There was no blood lust, not desire to maul and devour the flesh of his back, neither was there the crazed glint that so often fired the eyes of the wargs and wolves. Was this a new trick that the wolves had learned from long years of experience? To lull their prey into a false sense of security then pounce upon them when they were unaware? The creatures were cunning, never had there been a doubt about that in Falmarin's mind. 

The wolf was alone, Falmarin could sense no others near by, it looked to be half starved as well. A patchy coat failed to hide protruding ribs along with both old and new scars. Normally, if this wolf was at all normal, starvation would only fuel his savagery. The wolf hazarded a step closer, curious eyes dodging from horse to elf. The iron grey laid his ears tight against his head, whickering deeply, warning the beast from advancing further. The creature froze, a paw cocked mid air, golden eyes fixed on the larger animal, then suddenly it sat back on his haunches and sighed a mournful howl. _You are_ _lost…alone…_

Then from beneath him, his elf stirred. Falmarin tensed, hope flaring anew in his heart. His frosted muzzle automatically dipped to nudge the elf's cold cheek, urging his master to wake from his frozen dreams. For a moment his attention was diverted from the wolf, giving it the opportunity it had waited patiently for. Falmarin reared back when he realized his mistake, wild fear for his elf fired his eyes. But wait! He did not understand this, it just didn't make sense.

  
The wolf, born to hunt and maim, had lain down near the feet of his elf. Dark eyes changed it seemed, curiosity replaced - or realized – to be wisdom, a story that told of years of wandering. He waited, eyes locked with the horse's. Thoughts were spoken wordlessly to each other, speech was unneeded after all between two beasts. The wolf blinked almost sleepily, rising to its feet where it stood staring unwaveringly at the horse and the elf. It was waiting; waiting for Falmarin's decision. He had offered a gift to the horse, it was up to Falmarin if he chose to accept it. 

---

Legolas felt himself moving though not by his own power. He was draped over something broad, but most importantly, warm. He was beginning to become accustomed to this new feeling of 'cold', though he wished that he had never had to. The elf sifted through frozen layers of memory trying to recall what had happened, or at least what was happening, but his mind proved to be an unwilling source. 

Time did not exist in this strange cocoon in which he drowsed. He slept it seemed, but his dreams were confused. Darkness would prevail, bringing with it the rare visitation of nightmares, but then, each time the suffocating fear would threaten to ensnare him completely, a wolf would appear with a coat so white that the blackness of his mind would be abolished. There was not one grey hair to be seen. The wolf would never stay for long, Legolas strangely wished it would though. The fire in the creature's eyes was so bright that warmed him, leaving him floating in a temporary euphoria for a time until again the dark dreams threatened him again. But each time the wolf appeared, the space between the weightless bliss and the dark dreams stretched longer. 

The wolf was old, very old, but yet it seemed new and untouched by nameless years. Twin scars adorned its fore-paws while along its white sides ran long scars, marring its beautiful coat. Such a strong creature it seemed in Legolas's eyes. It was a wonder that any beast could inflict such a wound upon it, much less _want_ to. Yes, it was old, older than time, Fangorn would have seemed young compared to this creature. 

How long he passed from shadow to shadow, he did not know, but as long as the wolf was there, he felt no need to ever wake again. 

---

The wolf ever walked ahead, patiently stopping lest the horse loose site of him. It would have been easy in these white wastes, but Falmarin never did. The horse bent his head against the onslaught, wishing that he could offer his elf some protection from the elements. His elf was not well, that much was clear to him even if beast he may be. Ages it seemed that they forged their way through the deepening snow, only twice or thrice passing any kind of foliage. That was until one by one trees began to loom in the darkness of the moonless night, almost too gradual to take notice of until Falmarin found himself in a sheltered woodland.

The wolf tracked right, cutting through the trees. Its steps were sure, and it seemed entirely unaffected by the wind and snow that even under the trees afflicted them. The smell of the sleeping trees graced Falmarin's senses, reminding him of home. All his life had he been among the trees, their presence was a great comfort. Half of him hoped that being in the company of the growing things again would revive his elf, but the other half doubted that the elf was even aware of his surroundings. 

It seemed a long time that he followed the wolf who wove around trees and passed through brush. But it was when Falmarin began to doubt his choice again when the wolf pulled up suddenly, looked back then turned and seemed to disappear into the snow. Falmarin snorted in surprised backpedaling abruptly, expecting at any moment a pack of wolves to fall upon him and his elf. 

The wolf appeared again, eyes shining in the darkness. It blinked slowly, patiently, as if waiting for a scared child to follow. Falmarin did not think not to follow when their eyes met. Suddenly, the idea of distrusting this beast seemed preposterous. 

The horse saw then what had caused the wolf to disappear from sight. Disguised by the snow and shadows, a pile of boulders was hidden. The wolf had turned into the crevasse and the rocks had blocked Falmarin's view. One could have passed within four paces and not have seen it. 

Relief was immediate. The vicious driving snows passed over the boulders, howling it seemed angrily at the loss of their prey. Deeper the wolf led them, deeper than Falmarin realized that the boulders stretched. He then realized that this was no longer an outcropping of rocks, but that they were in a cave! The click of his hooves on hard packed earth accompanied by their dim echo gave it away. No wonder the air was so still. 

Falmarin stumbled as they stopped, exhaustion beginning to win out. His head dipped low, his muzzle nosing the ground for the best place to lay his burden. The wolf turned slowly – as all its motions were – golden, ageless eyes caught the tiring horse's. Thoughts were exchanged and then the wolf was gone back towards the way they had come. 

The iron grey, lowered himself to his knees first followed by the rest of his body. A breath escaped his lungs as his weary limbs were relieved. Falmarin leaned carefully, the elf sliding easily off his back to land cradled against the horse's frosted side. The horse had done all he could for his elf, his strength was spent and he no more to give but his presence and the warmth of his body. Slowly, regretfully, Falmarin's eyes slid close. He fell into equine dreams with the vision of a white wolf and a figure too bright to gaze at in his mind's eye. The wolf sung then, its voice melding with that of the ethereal figure beside it. 

---

Aragorn slept for a long while in warm oblivion. But his bliss was diminishing as reality seeped through the cracks of his dreams. Cold was reality, so wherever reality touched, cold followed in suit. What was worse than the biting cold, was the horrible unidentifiable itching somewhere in the crags of his mind that he should be doing something, namely, saving someone. 

Memory struck like a flash of summer lightning. Aragorn bolted upright in the wake of the sudden remembrance. A sheet of snow had collected on him while he slept. It now fell from him like a robe as it was disturbed. Nearby, the horses stood anxiously, their ears pricked as they listened to a new sound. It was not him that they wondered at. The snow was still falling, the winds harshly whipping it in furious gust outside the semi-protection of the trees. But what he heard was not dampened by the scream of the wind. 

A song, sweeter than any he had ever heard or dreamed possible, filled the forest. Deep and resonant it was, making the frigid air tingle with warmth and gentle power. Never had he heard anything so fair to the ear, or so powerful. It lilted through his mind, swirling and wrapping around him like a blanket. It pulled at him, pulled at him to follow the song to its source. Even Fasse had risen to his feet. He said the last thing that Aragorn would have expected. "Where is that horrid howling coming from?" 

Aragorn's brow furrowed, he ached to follow the song as a verse seemed to end. "What is this that you speak of, Fasse? Never have my ears, nor my heart, heard anything so blessed." 

"You truly are mad, friend Ranger. I always knew it. That is but the cry of a wolf." Fasse sniffed, covering his ears tightly, as if to block out some offending sound. 

"You of all people should hear it, wizard! That is no wolf, I have heard that cry before to be certain. Even in the elven realms have I not heard any song so fair!" Aragorn was already tugging the horses to follow. The last notes of the verse were dying away. It seemed to him that to tarry now would mean certain misfortune. 

"You wish then to go on a mad chase for a hostile wolf while our friend lies somewhere out there in the snow?" Fasse's eyebrows peaked, his voice harsh compared to the fading song. "What devilry has taken you over? It is nothing but a wolf, a wolf that would wish to dine on our flesh no doubt!" 

Aragorn had already started off in the direction of the singer, his feet guided along an unseen path as he allowed his heart to command him. "It is for Legolas that I go!" 

Fasse floundered hastily to the Ranger's side. "Why do you say that? You can do him no good when you are being ripped to shreds by the hungry teeth of wargs or wolves!" 

The Ranger turned, his desperate pace slowing. Fasse looked curiously into the man's eyes. Hope shone clear in them, hope that Fasse had thought gone. "I do not know, Fasse. I just have to. Something tells me not to doubt, but just walk." He flashed the confused wizard a curious grin. "Sometimes there are things that you can't explain, things that you just know you have to do. Sometimes you can't question them, just rest in assurance that whatever happens is the will of Ilúvitar." 

Fasse stared after Aragorn, frozen in his steps. Aragorn had changed in his eyes at that moment from an impulsive and self-doubting man, to a strong, sound-minded king. 

The song had begun again, piercing snow and defeating wind. Aragorn's feet carried him quicker now as the melody pulled him closer with each step. From the look on Fasse's face, the wizard's mind's ear had been opened. 

They walked and they walked, sometimes when the song swelled Aragorn would even break into a floundering jog through the snow. Fasse didn't even complain at these occasions as he also now felt the tug at his heart to follow. The snow never stopped it's fearsome howling, but it was but a dim throb in their ears compared to the strength of the song. Even when sight was near impossible, it did nothing to hinder them, it was as if their feet already knew the path set before them. 

---

He had heard of unexplained happenings that could really only be named as miracles, but never had he been present to witness such a thing. There was always of course the incomprehensible blessings that he did nothing to deserve; his life had abounded with those. But real, honest, supernatural miracles in which you could almost see and touch the breath of Ilúvitar were no ordinary day's vision. Aragorn had never dreamed that he would stand nigh, or amidst, such an experience. 

White as fresh snow, yet as humble as the soil of the earth, the wolf was, and is. Eyes that told of unnamed years locked with mortal eyes of man. Aragorn could not speak; neither did he wish to. 

"Aragorn! I knew this was folly!" Fasse cried, his staff held defensively horizontally to his waist. "It waits to set its pack against our backs. Look! Tell me that is not the blood of wargs coursing through its veins?"

Again, Fasse's mind had been closed. Why the wolf did not wish the wizard to see his wonder, Aragorn could not comprehend. The wolf blinked, snapping his heart breakingly wonderful bliss. It stood still, beckoning in Aragorn's mind for him to approach. He had no reason to hesitate. 

Even as his feet drew him near to the ethereal creature, the wolf began to fade into the snow. Aragorn's steps quickened, desperate to reach the wolf before it was gone. How he wished to simple stand and stare! But vain was his hope. 

The wolf was gone. Even the last dying strains of its song were nearly gone. Aragorn's grief was great, but the warmth that resonated strength yet lingering in him was greater. Still, the longing to look upon the face of grace was left unquenched. But the departure of the creature did not steal away the light that guided his feet, even when he found the passage leading through the rocks bringing him to an unnaturally warm cavern. Here it was that Falmarin knelt at the side of Legolas. By the grace and hand of Eru through the song of a wolf, Aragorn had not failed.

****

TBC…

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Quckie A/N: Dern! What is it about angst that makes the reviews just catapult? That was pretty funny going from 30 something to 67. Thanks everyone! Oh and Jocelyn, hope I didn't disappoint you with the reason for Legolas's weakness. I was told that I heal my characters too quick. So I made Legolas's owies a bit more serious by adding up his noble elvish act of giving his cloak to Fasse, combined with being in a REAL nasty snow storm (which by the way I know nothing about since I live down here on the beach.) and then with his stab wound to top it off. I thought that was enough to make him feel cold. I may be wrong, but that's just my opinion on the matter. I would have posted this sooner but as ff.net has been down I have been unable to. Dern! Thanks for all the reviews guys, I really am in your debt.


	12. Dreams

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild. 

Note: The poem at the opening of this chapter belongs to Robert Frost. I'm just borrowing it. 

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

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Part 12

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~~~

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The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep. 

~~~

Fasse had long since fallen asleep, his eyes too heavy to hold open. His contented snores echoed in the warm stillness of the cave, reminding Aragorn all too much of the summer night outings he and his brothers would take. Contrary to what many a mortal thought, elves could, and did, snore. 

The Ranger sat near his friend, his back propped against the side of Roheryn who had finally relaxed enough to ease himself to his knees. There was no denying that he was worried for the well being of his elven companion, but something edged in the back of his mind, laying to rest most of his fears. However, it would have been completely unnatural for him not to feel even a degree of concern. After all, the elven race was not so prone to the feelings of mortal flesh unless of course he had been exposed to harsh elements with neither coat nor relief for some period of time. Adding a none too trivial wound onto the list didn't help matters at all, Aragorn thought dully. 

He couldn't help but laugh darkly when he thought back to the conversation, one sided or not, he had engaged the unwilling Legolas in while they had been detained back in the Eregion town. 

__

"So do you think that if you were out in, say, a really long snowfall and got caught in it with nothing but a cloak for let's say, a month, would that make you cold?" 

"That would make me dead," Legolas answered wryly.

Thank the grace of Eru that it had not come to that! Aragorn sighed, stroking Roheryn's foreleg as he settled deeper into the niche he had positioned for himself against the horse's side. Roheryn's deep breaths pressed against his back and the horse's warm coat soothed his aches. He smiled, watching Falmarin's fussing as he nosed Legolas anxiously ever so often. "You needn't fear for him, friend. Your elf is too strong, stubborn as well, to give himself to a mortal feeling for too long." Wishing to ease the horse's honest worry he laid a hand on the grey neck. The reaction he received was unexpected.

Falmarin's head snapped around, his ears laid flat to his head. Not even with elvish reflexes could Aragorn have avoided the solid bite to his hand. He drew back sharply, clutching his hand to his chest trying to staunch the slow flow of blood. Roheryn drew himself to his feet in an instant, his body tense. Nienna and Gorban stood ridged beside each other as well. The three horses watched Falmarin closely. Nienna's eyes were slightly guarded, Gorban's were equally wary, while Roheryn's reflected defensiveness for his rider. But besides the protectiveness natural to his blood there was sympathy, an understanding that which only beasts of burden could empathize. 

Never had Falmarin acted as such towards him. Either the horse was ill, or something darkened his spirit. Aragorn's brow knotted, momentarily forgetting the broken skin of his hand. He had a horrible feeling he knew what it was that possessed, or prompted the horse to act in such a hostile manner towards him at any unneeded contact. "Falmarin, friend, I am truly sorry that I have betrayed your confidences. But please," he held up a hand when the horse tossed his grey mane, "hear me out. I did not see him fall, if I had even you know that I would have stopped." 

The short explanation did nothing, at least that he could tell, to gentle the horse's temper. In Falmarin's eyes, the man had not upheld his side of the friendship with his elf. For that, he would be no friend of his. 

Falmarin probably would have bit one of his ears off if he did not feel the need to remain at Legolas's side. Aragorn looked to Roheryn pleadingly, hoping for some help in communicating his apology to Falmarin. The black only butted his head against the man's shoulder. Aragorn needed no elf to translate what the horse had meant: "You're on your own, friend. I'm not getting dragged into this." 

Aragorn extended his hands disarmingly – and just out of the reach of Falmarin's sharp teeth. "Please, Falmarin, I'm sorry." He bent a knee, lowering himself to be at eye contact with the horse. "If you can find it in your heart, would you forgive me for my failure to see his fall?" 

Falmarin sized the man up, his ears flicking forward, his nostrils testing the air about the human. Anger still bristled in his heart, but he was willing to give the man a second chance. He knew this mortal well, he was good and kind in his ways, he had been a good friend to his elf. Falmarin had decided long ago at his first meeting with his elf that any friend of his master's was his own to protect. Genuine were the human's words, and heartfelt was his regret. 

Yes, he would offer him a second chance. After all, the man had found the cave and wrapped the elf in his own cloak. Still, he did not regret in the least the minor, yet painful, wound he had christened his elf's friend's hand with. Every mortal needed a bit of humbling from time to time. 

Aragorn inched closer when he saw Falmarin's ears relax, the ragging fire in the horse's dark eyes reducing to a low flicker. Once he was within biting range and the horse did not strike, he allowed himself to relax a degree. "Then we understand each other again, Falmarin?" The horse blinked cautiously. Aragorn knelt again, his hand reaching warily out. Falmarin lowered his head, allowing the man to make good on his intentions with a good scratch behind the ear. Aragorn smiled, laughing at the sudden change in the horse's demeanor. There was still a guarded, chastising look about the creature, but forgiveness had been given. "I must thank you," Aragorn said softly, his voice turning serious. "Without you, our friend would have been lost." 

He cast his eyes to where Legolas lay still in the safe harbor of Falmarin's side. As frightening as it was to see his friend's eyes closed in the manner mortal's sleep, he was assured of his friend's progressing recovering by the color already returning to the elf's face. Many a man would have been dead by the harsh furry raging outside, but thanks to elvish stamina and resilience, Legolas would recover in good time. 

He was brought back to the present time by a soft push against his shoulder. At first he thought when he caught the expressive eye of Falmarin that the horse sought to comfort him. Aragorn laughed suddenly when he realized that this was not the horse's intention at all. His hand had stopped scratching Falmarin's 'happy spot' – as Legolas called it – and the horse was instead prompting him to continue. Chuckling, he gave the horse a hard scrubbing on the neck. Falmarin grunted, leaning hard against the hand. 

Both stopped when Legolas shifted, the first movement he had made off his own power. The corners of his lips quirked upward slightly, a soft sigh escaping him as he resettled himself. However, the elf showed no sign of awakening. Falmarin whickered, bumping the elf's face with his nose. "Easy, friend. He is merely resting. Dreaming, more by the look of it." A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He could never let his friend live this down. It wasn't every day after all that you saw an elf drowse with his eye's closed while smiling in dreams. If Elladan or Elrohir heard of this, Legolas would hear no end of it. 

With approval from Falmarin, he settled back against the horse's chest, content to sit the worst of the storm out and wait for his friend to wake, who would rest until his body felt it was able to carry its normal duties. 

---

Rest was found in a safe, sun-kissed plain where shadows could not linger before the smile of Anar. The trees that dotted the glade where he lay cast no dark gloom. It seemed to his body that he drowsed on a bed of downy feathers covered with linen cloths, but beneath him he could still feel the tickle of grass. More importantly, he was warm. The Daystar shone down upon him with no cloud to hinder her beauty. 

Ai, he could linger here in the light of the sky and the fresh open air for lifetimes and not wish to see anymore than this. The only thing that seemed to lack, was the wolf. He would appear at times when it seemed as if the sun was dipping, but at his coming she would flair to life again, shining all the brighter. Anar seemed to sing at His coming, and the winds danced at His breath. It was He that had lead Legolas here, away from the shadows and the pain, away from the cold. It was He that had breathed upon him and brought rest to his weary mind. Ai, yes, this is what rest was. 

Birds sang in harmony with the Undying Song while he tarried beneath the perfect sun that would neither scorch nor parch the grasses. At times his soul would be so called to join his voice with the winds and beasts whom all raised their song to glorify and bring praise to their Creator. 

He shifted, rolling lazily to his side, watching the golden dust of the sun filter through the emerald foliage. Legolas lips curved upward, turning his face to the pure ray. He had thought he had known bliss in his time in Rivendell, lounging carelessly on an ivy laced terrace, or those distant days before Mirkwood had been swept, leaf and branch, by evil. Strange how those memories and feelings seemed so ancient, and yet so recent. Recollections he though long lost rushed back, not childhood fears or painful encounters, but the woodland frolics of his youth when his mother yet lingered in the lost beauty of Greenwood. Conversations, games in the treetops, the very sound of his mother's laughter came back to him as clear as the song of the birds. 

Then there was Aragorn. Legolas smiled wider, a tinkle of laughter escaping his lips. His laughter grew as he thought of their first meeting, the foolish, and often impulsive, stunts and rescue attempts they had pulled with Elladan and Elrohir backing them up. That is until Lord Elrond had found out about their latest escapade. Ai! It was a but a blink in an elf's eye, but Aragorn had grown so much since their first encounter. Alas, the young man hadn't even sported the messy beard he scraggily wore now. 

Legolas thought of many things. He perceived how much Aragorn had changed, and yet how many traits had changed so little. Even since they had left Rivendell on this task, Aragorn had already grown in responsibility. Legolas felt a faint twinge of regret, why must growth always be heralded by grief? 

But even as regret tingled his heart, he knew that here, in this perfect land, he could not think of evil. Whatever thought or regret he felt had been meant to happen for the better. Perhaps that was why he felt nothing but acceptance when he remembered his mother's departure from the shores of Middle-earth. 

He sighed, breathing in the fresh, clean air. Sweet, green sent tainted the air, filling his lungs with unearthly breath. He was sure that he could have lain here for lifetimes without wishing to move. But that was not meant to be. 

The wolf had returned, stronger, taller, and more beautiful than before here in His own land. The sweet Song swelled with His coming and the sun shone almost white. Legolas kneeled, his head bowed, not at all sure whether his earthly eyes could stand to gaze upon His majesty. 

"Here your eyes are not earthly, my first child." A voice spoke, deeper than the sea and more melodious than any song that had ever left the lips of an elf. The wolf's mouth did not move, but His words were as clear as the sky. "Look upon me while you may, child." 

Legolas raised his head, his eyes seeking whom his heart desired above all else. Even though is breath caught, he could not hold back the surge of song building within him at the sight of his highest Lord. The wolf, or what he thought to be a wolf, could hardly be discerned for the brightness of His beauty and the glory of His presence. But whether He was in the form of a wolf or even his full glory (which would have surely slain him for the beauty too great and terrible for him to behold), the eyes, brighter than any star or constellation, were the same. 

Warmth so great built in his heart, love for no other filled his soul. "Who am I to be so blessed to look upon Your grace? What have I done to deserve your favor?" 

He smiled, and at that smile, the Song turned all the sweeter. "Nothing at all, eldest, nothing. You are my first child and that is enough. But here you cannot remain much longer."

Here there was a brief downfall in the Song as Legolas's disappointment and utter denial of turning away from his desire. "Nay, I beg of You! Do not send me from Your sight, nothing else do I crave but to remain here!" 

He said nothing to this, Legolas knew that He foreknew every thought and feeling in his mind before it was conceived. The elf heard the Song slowly change, and he realized that a verse was about to end. "He will need you yet."

Suddenly in his mind's eye, Aragorn was kneeling beside Falmarin. Legolas's heart ached bitterly and the thought of leaving his dear friend behind, not to be able to share his joy with him would be a thorn in his delight. It was then that he knew he must return. 

"You have seen it yourself, first child, it is not your time. Not yet." 

Grief burst in Legolas's breast as He turned His face from him. It was as if the very sun had left the sky and the stars and the moon had fled behind storm clouds. The very earth beneath him seemed to sink away. How would he ever find his way back? 

But then light returned both to eye and heart, though it could never come to measure with the brightness of His wonder. There He remained, turned toward him once more. There was His smile, a chord so beautiful in the Song as the last strain of the verse he had been so intimately apart of died away. Forever the sweet thrum would echo in his mind. 

Then there was His gaze. A great wind blew over the grasses, rustling leaf and branch. So strong and fresh was its scent it took Legolas's breath away. His eyes closed shut as the essence of it filled his senses. But when next he opened them, it was as if he had been cast into an ocean. Ai, no! He did not wish to leave! The strength of the Song was already fading back to what it had been for all his life. He struggled against the pull, seeking to bring him to the surface of reality. Ai! How he did not wish to go! But then in his heart he felt the same warm throb of the Song and the gaze of his highest Lord. 

It truly was time to go back.

---

Moving to a crouch beside Legolas, Aragorn leaned over the slowly waking elf. In Legolas's half wakefulness, he twisted, burying his face in the warm winter coat of Falmarin's side. The horse whickered hopefully in the elf's ear, resorting to nosing his elf roughly when Legolas gave no care. Legolas nestled further into his protective ball, obviously wishing all disturbers to leave him be. In Falmarin's eyes, he looked strangely like a porcupine. 

"Come now, friend. It's time to return to this land. Leave your dreams for a time," Aragorn urged. But no matter how much prodding and badgering, Legolas simply refused to wake entirely. 

That was until Gorban offered his help by adding his voice to Aragorn and Falmarin's. The harsh, ear piercing bray was a scream that could have 'roused the dead. As it was, Legolas was not quite dead, so it was quite enough. The elf's eyes sprang open like harshly pulled shutters, jolting upright. Aragorn stumbled back at the sudden awakening. He laughed more out of relief than the spooked expression on Legolas's pallid face. "Welcome back, Legolas! I am glad you finally decided to join us." 

Falmarin's wet nuzzle landing solidly on Legolas's ear did nothing to ease his disorientation. The horse was overjoyed to see his elf back in commission, albeit a bit stiffly. Aragorn cautiously laid a hand on the elf's ridged shoulder. "Easy, Legolas. All is well now." A wry grin spread easily across Aragorn's weather beaten features. "Enjoy it while you may, you never know what will happen to us next. Or should I say, _you_." 

Legolas blinked thoughtfully, gathering his wits about him. His thoughts could be called muddled at best. There was a strange warmth in his chest, accompanied by a slight ache in his heart, but the warmth far overpowered the unnamed desire. What exactly had happened? He remembered little of the happenings leading up to where he was now. But something itched in the back of his mind, telling him that something had indeed happened, something special that he ought not to forget. 

"How do you feel?" Aragorn asked, a worried frown crossing his face. The elf looked distant. He had yet to speak to them and he bore the look of a dreamer. 

The elf looked up sharply, his crinkles of thought disappearing from his brow. "Ai, I am sorry, Estel. It seems that I'm a bit, confused." 

The man smiled, clasping his friend's shoulder. "Never fear, Legolas, it is to be expected after all you went through." 

"But that seems to be the trouble, Aragorn. Everything is so, fuzzy." Legolas's brow creased again, finding the lack of immediate memory disturbing. 

"It will come once you've rested a while more. Maybe with a bit of coaxing it will return even hastier. But other than memory, how do you feel?" 

The elf shook his head slowly, "I feel relatively fine." He touched his side carefully as it twinged angrily at most any movement. "Though to be honest, my side does pain me somewhat. But it is nothing to fret over," he added before Aragorn could set into a fit of worry. "Besides that, I am just a bit weary." 

"Well I don't see why you should be weary, silly Elf. It's not like you've lacked for sleep," mumbled Fasse, trundling over. Even he had been awakened when Gorban had taken it upon himself to wake every beast within a league. In fact, and unremarkably so, Fasse was quite put off at the rude awakening. 

Nienna butted him in the shoulder, snorting hotly. Fasse look affronted. "No need to get testy, marm. I was just poking some fun and trying to lift that down right gloomy look off that lad's face." 

Legolas did indeed smile, quite brightly in fact. It didn't hide the slight droop of his shoulders as his little energy drained fast from his blood. Aragorn's eyes were keen, and it took more than a smile to hide something from him. The man pressed a hand against Legolas shoulder, pushing him back against Falmarin's warm side, he was met by little resistance. "That's quite enough excitement for today. An elf needs his rest after feeling just how exhausting mortal afflictions are."

Legolas opened half-lidded eyes. "Are you implying something, friend Aragorn?" 

"Of course not. Just stating fact."

"Since when were you factual in your statements?" Legolas said as he relaxed against his horse's side. 

"Shush, don't even try to jest with me when only half of the half of the mind you have is functioning." It seemed that Legolas agreed. Already the elf lay with his hands folded across his chest and his eyes lost in elvish dreams. 

Somewhere in the night a wolf sang the storm to cease.

****

TBC…

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A/N: Wow! 80 reviews! I never imagined this much when I started out. Okay, so maybe it's not a big deal to some of you but to me…well it's a big deal. Thank you so much for the faithful feedback. I'm glad you all are enjoying this so far and are finding some pleasure in my OC characters.

Okay, shameless plug. If you haven't, then you just have to go check out "Unblinded" by Vikki, or here known as Victoria. I can't really summarize because I can't do it justice. You'll absolutely love it. I usually don't like that kind of story, (yes 'that kind' I'm just teasing you) but she's pulled it off marvelously. 


	13. Nameless Shadows

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild.

Note: Me stupid, I forgot that Aragorn spent thirteen years off and on searching for Gollum. I have to bump this story back then to placing it about thirteen years before the start of WR. I think it still works after looking back over "Rising Storm". Acceptably at least. I'm planning on going back over it and revising at least for my own personal copy, so if anyone can tell me my errors, please do! Not to give the end away, but I placed it here because of the way that I've plotted it out. I know this whole thing is very AU, even though I honestly haven't tried to make it that way.

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Shadows on the Snow

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Part 13

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The new day shone with promise that brightened Aragorn's heart. He had ventured out of the dark protection of the cave to the open air, finding that the snow had much abated even though heavy clouds laced the sky; but the weather seemed to be less daunting. The land was a softer white now that the driving winds had died to a mere whisper. The silence was broken only by the warble of a bird that somewhere in the woodland ventured out to greet the day. Drifts of snow were piled against the trunks of ancient trees, rolling through the forest like the waves of Belegaer, the Great Sea. 

Never could his mind grasp completely how the wrath and fury of the snow could be subdued so quickly and be turned to such an innocent element, draping tree and earth with garments of white. It only showed him all the more the predestination of the Song for all it involved. There had been a reason for all that had happened, so indeed there was nothing ill when the Creator of the World that Is foreknew what was to happen, and that was truly a comforting thought. 

"It seems that we have not been left to the devices of the wild." Legolas came to stand beside him, staring without trepidation at the snows that had nearly claimed his immortal existence. 

Aragorn frowned at his recovering companion, a familiar look of worry laced with frustration. "You should not be out here so soon, Legolas. You needn't push your luck."

A wry smile turned the corners of the Elf's lips. "I would hardly call it 'luck' Aragorn. Do you still have to learn that luck or abstract fortune has anything to do with anything?"

"Old habits die hard, they say. A slip of the tongue, I assure you. Should I inform you that you're changing the subject, friend?" 

Legolas didn't seem to hear him, his smile widening in willful ignorance, quite content to stay on this current subject. In fact he wished it. There were things that had been left unsaid that needed to be shared. "Truly, we were foolish to ever doubt. Even if the outcome had not been what it was."

Aragorn nodded, peering carefully at Legolas's face. Something weighed upon the Elf; a distant look still haunted his sharp Elven eyes. It was an ailment that did not afflict his flesh, but his soul. He waited, ready to listen lest Legolas need an ear to confide in. The Elf had done as much for him many times over the years they had known each other. It was the least he could do in return. 

"I know not what it is, Aragorn," Legolas began slowly, reluctant to weigh Aragorn down with his own thoughts, "but when I woke this morning, I felt as if something wonderful had happened, but I could not remember what it was!" The Elf blew a sigh of consternation, it was the most aggravating feeling he had felt in a long while. Forgetfulness was not a coil oft a part of the Elvish mind. "It aches," he tapped his chest, "in here. As if I am longing for something, though I know not what I have lost," he said softly. 

He caught Aragorn's concerned look and smiled. "Do not frown Aragorn, I am as well as can be expected. Even though I ache to know what it is that has left me – perhaps only faded from my perception – there is a warmth that yet burns within me greater than any fire that could warm my skin. Ai! it was if I have heard some strain of music too sweet to bear!"

  
Aragorn cried out suddenly, as if remembering something he himself had forgotten. "Yes, the Song, Legolas! I heard it, I have heard the melody that your ears are ever graced with!" His voice faltered at the remembrance of the sweet sound. "How is it that your mind can think of any other when such beauty forever serenades your souls? I am sure that I only heard the faintest wisp of notes, but oh! How sweet it was!"

Legolas face lit with amazement, taking joy in his friend's elation. "This is a wonder indeed! You have heard the Song? Rare is the day when man is graced to hear the Great Music! It truly is a wonder that your mind is still in its right state after such an experience." Never in Legolas's many years had he heard of such a happening, it was also a matter of much fear on his part to think of his mortal friend hearing such a glorious tune. Even the elves being the first of Ilúvitar's children, would find it unbearable to leave such unearthly beauty and return to the mute life of flesh in the lands of Arda. That is, if they were indeed allowed to remembered such an experience…

Aragorn laughed, his face lit with unsurpassed joy as the sweet memory – though supernaturally dimmed. Legolas laughed with him and it was some time before finally they could do naught else but laugh. True joy is not easily dimmed by time. 

Soon the three with their equine companions were setting their feet to their task once more. It felt strangely good, even to Fasse who was hardly the type for exercise. With the happily received help of the striving Sun, Aragorn found the South Road in good time and lacking any unwelcome hindrances. It was bitter sweet to step upon the old, snow-covered path again, their fellowship whole, a company of three and four. Fasse, and even Aragorn, had doubted the probability of that ever happening again. But here they were, an Elf, a Man, and a delinquent Istar with a faithful following of beasts of burden.   
  
---  
  
Two nights had come and gone, much as they had all over the face of Arda. Two blessed nights in which Legolas was glad not to be reacquainted with the mortal sensation of cold. But it was a different cold that traced chilling fingers down his spine as they set their feet to their road as the sun rose, still hindered, on this the third day out from the cave. They had at last entered the Gap of Rohan.  
  
His steps faltered, his eyes narrowed. It was much the same chill as he had felt a few days prior when first they had joined with the Old South Road on a course that would lead them past the doorstep of…  
  
"Isengard," he muttered beneath his breath. So foul it seemed, yet so beautiful did he recall the descriptions of it. A valley of plenty, lush and full of life could he recall travelers' words of it, but something within him seemed to rebel against the fair description.   
  
"What troubles you?" Aragorn queried, noticing the shudder that had coursed subtly through Legolas's shoulders. "Surely your wounds do not yet pain you."  


Legolas shook his head. "Nay, it is nothing physical; it is just…" there was a pregnant pause, he was not sure how to continue without saying too much and yet saying too little. "I have questions, concerns, that I have not yet sorted out."  
  
"Would you care to share them?"   
  
Again, Legolas shook his head negatively. "They are but confused threads that I have yet to untangle. I do not think that I could even express them clearly without confusing myself further."

Aragorn nodded understandingly. He knew too well the feeling. "I can understand perfectly." His hand found the Elf's shoulder, "But when you have adequately sorted your concerns, you will have my ear if it is needed."  
  
Legolas nodded his thanks wordlessly, watching, but not quite seeing, Aragorn's short trek to the front of the line. Something ill was spreading over these lands. Something putridly foul was afoot. 

---

Walls of polished ebony caught the flicker of candlelight. It was not a wholesome light that brought an excuse for light to the deep recesses of the chamber, but as if every hue of orange and white had been removed and replaced with an unnamable black light. However, one could easily describe it as unpleasant and entirely not the sort of place he or she would like to spend any length of time over a cup of tea. This was the place - the tower of Isengard wrought of four pillars of unbreakable black stone - Saruman the White called his abode, a place where shadows lingered and were welcomed and light was but a necessary evil.  


Hair the color of his title fell in a rain of silk below his broad shoulders. He was clad in a robe of the same shade, the raiment woven and embroidered by skillful hands. The Istar stood out starkly with his dark surroundings, a strange, strong ghost that did not seem to belong here. Indeed the only physical feature that was not of the purer color were his eyes. Dark they were, a veil seemed be cast over them hiding the intent of his soul from view.   
  
But in many ways his title forsook him, quite contrary to the unspoken and unknown part of him. To all peering eyes, he was indeed Saruman the Wise. Yet there was a lesser-known part of him, a face beneath the mask that was not so wholesome. It was this visage that stared with disdainful malice at the wretched form of life cowering at his feet who tried its best to save its life through explanation. "We did not know they drew so close, my Lord. It was as if they were hid from our eyes!"  
  
…_As if they were hid from our eyes. _The wizard turned inward, mulling over the disturbing thought. Nothing was to be hidden from him, his alliances were too strong and his benefits from those bonds meant that eventually all Arda would be in his mind's eye. How could a man, and Elf, and a pathetic life form who called himself one of the Order of the Istari, be so near to his domain without his notice? It was indeed disturbing.   
  
It was also highly frustrating; he knew that these very three were the trio that had nearly brought upon him his ruin. Word had come to him that the dullard, Fasse, was traveling to these parts to seek refuge with either Gondor or Rohan. The fool had always been indecisive. "Do not let them draw any nearer; they tread in places they should not venture."

  
To the Orc who yet quaked at his Master's bidding, his canceled execution was an unexpected surprise. To an Orc, death was a matter of their short lives so the execution was merely postponed. But the wizard did not even utter a rebuke. Who was he but a wretched pawn to argue with the well being of his provider? "Your word is done, Lord."

---

The weather turned indecisive as morning drew on to noon. Clouds darkened and swelled till it seemed they were fit to burst and leash their fury on the travelers, but then a gust of wind would prance from the unseen to hurry the unruly clouds away. The air was heavy with secrets, here it was not only felt by Legolas, but by his two companions.   
  
"I have traveled this path before but it did not feel so, hateful, at that time," Aragorn mused beneath his breath. He laid a calming hand on Roheryn's broad neck. For the sake of time, they had taken to their horses' backs again as it seemed that in these parts, the winter had not yet bitten so hard. Legolas rode near Fasse's right shoulder keeping an eye on the wizard's mare. However stubborn Nienna was, there a came a limit to which a horse would withstand and Fasse was hardly the skilled rider. 

With exaggerated caution the travelers passed into the shadow of Dol Baran, the last foothill of the southern region of the Misty Mountains. But no caution could have prevented what happened next.

"Yrch!" Legolas barely had enough time of forethought to cry the warning before the creatures of darkness spilled from their concealed positions in the shadows.   
  
Aragorn's sword sung as it was freed from its sheath, his eyes taking in the scope of the odds and their own defense as a warrior's habit. Eyes of every shade of yellow glinted with blood lust. They had been ambushed. The ring of two scores of Orcs was too tight for easy escape. In fact, their odds were quite bleak. The three horses and Gorban turned outwards, each defending the other's back.   
  
Hardly had they drawn their own weapons were the Orcs upon them, wasting no time for the travelers to recover and form any strong defense. Fasse gripped his sturdy staff in two hands, striking hard blows on the skulls of any Orc that drew too near. Only by some odd chance did he avoid hitting Nienna's head in his mad fight. He was highly unaccustomed to fighting in any manner from horseback. Beside the flailing Fasse, Gorban was holding his own against the rushing tide of creatures. Sharp hooves struck crushing blows while sending many of the beasts flying, quite literally. 

Many an Orc fell to the elvish arrows of the bow of Mirkwood. Falmarin needed no hand to guide him against the creatures, leaving Legolas free to use knife and bow. But each Orc that stumbled back in the last thralls of its miserable life was immediately replaced by another. There were too many. Aragorn's experienced eye could see this quite clearly. His sword hissed to bury itself in the neck of yet another Orc, ripping it free to wheel Roheryn to fight off a hoard that had nearly overcome Gorban. One unit at a time, the Orcs were forcing themselves between the companions, separating, surrounding and cutting them off from each other. It would be their demise if the Orcs succeeded.   
  
"Legolas, stay close to Fasse!" he cried over the tumult of the screams and wails of the Orcs. In his brief distraction, one of the vile creatures had ducked beneath his and Roheryn's defense. The Orc's knife hissed angrily on a path that would bury itself deep in the Ranger's unprotected side. It would have completed its journey if Roheryn hadn't twisted, swinging his hip to knock the Orc of balance deflecting the knife to score only a shallow laceration across Aragorn's thigh. He felt his rider tense at the unexpected pain, but it was considerably less discomfort had the horse not taken action. Roheryn's hooves brought a swift death to the creature. But it was only one in a seemingly growing sea of enemy masses.   
  
Time seemed to flee from their minds leaving them to fall mindlessly into the fight for life with each sweep of their arms. The distance between each other grew, the Orcs pressing in about them, their stench and cries of hate filling the air. Then over the havoc, all ears heard the thunderous pounding of the hoof as a storm rolling over the plains.   
  
The Riders of Rohan had come to call.  
  
Their attack was swift; their coming unseen until it was too late for the hapless creatures of the dark. Javelins were launched, arrows imbedded themselves in many a neck and the swords sung. Horses unhindered by the snow crushed any that stood in their way. Before long, the Road was littered with the bodies of the servants of all that was evil. There were none left to draw breath. Suddenly calm returned to the vale.   
  
Aragorn gave a cursory take of the plain before cleaning his blade replacing it to its place of peace. Legolas had already set his hand to helping the wounded of the Rohirrim. But they themselves were strangers and could not go without suspicion.   
  
"Who is it that found such disaster while only paces within our border?" a voice said, deep and with the tone of one accustomed to leading his men with precise orders. It was wary, but not cold, aggressive, but not hostile.   
  
"To some I am known as Strider, but in this region and to the region of Gondor I am known more commonly as Thorongil. The Elf is my friend and fellow traveler, Legolas, a son of Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. And the one upon the mare is Fasse, one of the White Council." Aragorn introduce his companions formally, using one of his many titles.   
  
A dark light was cast over the young man's fair features. His eyes bore into Fasse's back with something akin to hate. "One of the Istari? His name is unknown to me." The horseman's face suddenly lit with recognition, seeming to put whatever differences he had with the order of the Wizards behind him. "Thorongil, of Gondor, you say? Then this is an honor to be sure! Tales of your deeds at Umbar have reached us from Gondor. But forgive my surprise, we meet many on these plains some quite unsavory and one can never be too careful. A man of your type is lesser seen though." A curious smile touched the young man's lips. "I am Éomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark in charge of the Eastmark. But certain events drove me to these parts. It seems that that was a blessing."  
  
Aragorn nodded his agreement and thanks. "I share your sentiment. Without your intervention, my companions and I would have been lost. Already we have lost many of our supplies and we come to your land in sore need of aid."  
  
"To you, Thorongil, it shall be given."  
  
Aragorn opened his mouth to express once more his thanks, but Legolas appeared at his shoulder, beating him to vocalization. "Then I would I ask first an explanation to why so many Orcs roam within the edges of your lands? What fell sense lures them here and gives them shelter? They looked to be no mere band of Mountain Orcs to my eye." Legolas's tone was sharp to the carelessly observing ear, but Aragorn knew better the unease that crept into the Elf's voice. Aragorn laid a hand on Legolas's arm, but the Elf did not back down on his interrogation. The archer obviously sensed things that he did not, but he doubted that even Legolas did not know what troubled him as he had spoken and confirmed earlier.   
  
Éomer's brow knotted, a look of righteous anger settling in his eyes. Discerning eyes sized up the Elf. "Do you question my Riders' ability to keep our lands safe? Do you not think we do not fight these beasts day and night with every breath that is in our bodies?"   
  
Legolas at this point did ease his unnerving gaze, his posture relaxing allowing his tension to ooze from him. He tipped his head, "Forgive me, Horse Lord, that was not the aim of my words. I had hoped however you could give me insight into the happenings of this vale." His voice lowered, his eyes cast themselves upon the distant vision of the pronged tines of the tower of Isengard that could just be seen spiking over Dol Baran. "I would have truth spoken between us and for my part I would confess that there is a foul premonition on the air that sends shivers down my spine."  
  
"Though I have no Elven blood in my veins, I know the feeling you speak of well." Éomer's voice dropped. "Something foul broods in the stone walls of Isengard. I have seen shadows of it spreading over these parts."  
  
Aragorn opened his mouth to speak but for the second time another beat him to speech, though this time it was not Legolas.  
  
"You must be mistaken, my good Horse Lord. These 'shadows' that you speak of must come from another source. My home remains much the same as it has for these past years. But let us not start our meeting with ill words."   
  
From a few paces off, Aragorn heard Fasse gasp in surprise. He turned as one body with Legolas and Éomer to face the deep voice that spoke apologetically from behind them. He was clad in white with a neat beard of spun silver and in his hand he grasped in a strong hand a staff. They had no need to overhear Fasse's softly whispered word to identify the newcomer, "Saruman."   


  
**Author's Notes:**

Took me long enough folks! But I'm not dead and neither am I comatose.   
  
Now I know there will questions arising from some of you book-verse hogs (alas I am one of you but it may not seem like it from this chapter) such as "How the heck did Saruman get all the way from Isengard to the Old South Road so darn fast?" Forgive me on that one point if you will and just accept that imagination must be used on this blasted story. So all these other inconsistencies with Éomer and everything else are not intentional, and well, they are also intentional. That makes no sense whatsoever. I hate myself for them, but unfortunately I have been in a horribly uncreative mode.   
  
I hope you will also bear with me and allow me to thank some of you for your kind and helpful feedback. I only do this occasionally so I hope you don't mind. So without further ado…  
  
**Gwyn** – I do tend to think of Elves as both innocent and jaded at the same time. They've seen so much life, and yet they personally know so little of what it feels like in a mortal body. I guess that's why there are so many stories where the Elves either suffer a mortal wound or simply become mortal by some means. It's an interesting idea…Thanks for being such a faithful reviewer!  
**Jenny** – Horses, horses! What would I do without equine characters? Thanks for the review.

****

The Insane One – Forgive me for not going through the labor of putting in both capital and lowercase into your name. I don't have that much control over my fingers. Oh, you have a sick mind! *Laughs* You're another one of those torture lovers. Well as long as you continue to review then I won't sick my own Bob the Balrog on you. *Grins* Thank you for the feedback.  
**E** – Think Aslan. That's about all I can say. As you may notice I left unsaid whether He was Ilúvitar or Manwe. It's all up to you. *Grins* Joy! I'm up to 91 as I'm writing this. Who knows, maybe I'll break my own pitiful record and go to 100. It was too kind of you to poke me and remind me with a second request for the next chapter. I'm glad you like it so much!  
**Sabercrazy** – Good idea, I should work that in during some of the closing dialog in the last chapter. Thanks for the kind review.   
**Fantasia** – ROFL! Good question! I honestly had only the vaguest of an idea when your comment came in. And a good one it was. It jabbed me to go and actually make an outline for the finishing chapters. Where the ideas for these last parts from is thanks to you really. I need a solid mind like yours to remind me of important things like a plot.  
**Kayleigh-talitha** – Ai! I know what you mean about the Mary-Sue dilemma. I hardly go to the main hub here anymore for sake of keeping my hair. In the process I tend to loose a lot of stories that would be good reads. What I tend to do is just bookmark the profiles that I like and just go there. It's too kind of you to compare me to Cassia and Sio. I'm sure they would be appalled at the thought of me, Bill, equaling them. Thanks for the feedback and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
**JastaElf** – Theological? Me? Bill? HA! Well it was an honoring sentiment. John Frame is theological, and even though the dear friend has reviewed some of my stories, I wouldn't say that I'm theological in the least. It was an idea that bloomed from CS Lewis. I hate to disappoint you, but I don't see much more Legolas Angst coming up. Maybe I shouldn't say that since now you won't come back to see if I beat him up anymore. You may notice, but I do honestly try to cut back on my character torture. *Laughs* I hope that doesn't turn you away! I'm so glad you can connect with Falmarin. He's a dear character that I love. Any compliment from the author many marvelously written story including "The Scruff Factor" is swooned over. Thank you so much!  
**Maggie** – Ai! A review from Maggie! *Falls over* I can't deal with celebrities, I'm such a failure. Horses play such an important role in M-e, though many times unspoken. How else would our heroes, from Beleg to Arathorn, get anywhere without there trusted steed? It brings great relief to my heart that a trusted author like you approves of both the story, and the horses. As for the dream, it was horribly hard to write. I was afraid I would make it to tacky and my palms were sweating at the idea of writing such an ethereal scene. It brings great joy to my heart that you even took the time to send me such encouraging feedback. I can't thank you enough!  
**Thundera Tiger** - *Swoon* Does my heart stop? Do my eyes fool me? Is it truly "THE" Thundera Tiger that sends me such glowing feedback? With three amazing authors having sent me feedback, my writing career for as little as it has been is satisfied and I can die happy. You brought such relief to me with your compliments. As for Manwe vs. Eru…well as I've said earlier, it's all up to you! That way I don't' have to decide *Snicker*. It's a lame answer, but I hope it isn't too horrible. I was struggling over that decision and decided not to agonize over it. But honestly, I can't gush enough over your glowing compliments, true or not. You can't believe how high I squealed and how long I chattered to dear Mum over the finding of this gem. I acted like the 15-year-old I am when it came in. I hope this chapter was too your liking.   
  
Whew, I think that's it now, I really enjoy replying to your amazingly kind feedback all too much and I must restrain myself from writing a page to each of you no matter how short the comment is. Thank you all so very much!  
  
Bill


	14. Foreshadowing

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters. 

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild.

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

__

Part 14

_____________

There was much more to first impressions than the clothing arrayed in, or even the smile - no matter how genuine – worn on the fleshly face, much more. It took more than a kind word, or the tip of the head or even the giving of gifts. It was undeniable that an alliance could not be forged unless there was trust, and trust was grown from feelings in the soul. Without those beliefs and feelings, the bridge of trust could not be built.   
  
To Aragorn, the bridge was burning and there was little hope of it being re-built to full operation again. Hardly had he laid his discerning eyes on the spearhead of the Istari than a spike of blatant distrust broke what conjured up ideas of confidence he had in the wizard. Saruman's words were clad in silk.   
  
"So please, let me convey with all the feelings of my heart my deepest and sincerest apology that you should come to such near ruin so close to my doorstep." The wizard's eyes shone with regret and convincing pain. "I know how it must look, but what use would I have of these foul beasts that maim all that is good and pure?"   
  
Aragorn tensed as the white wizard's eyes turned on him. So convincing and reasonable were his words that Aragorn felt strongly compelled to believe Saruman and take the wise being at his word. Then the earnest look was removed from him and placed on Fasse. The diminutive wizard stood aghast at Legolas's shoulder, having dismounted shakily from Nienna.   
  
Saruman was hardly capable of hiding the strain it took to smile warmly at Fasse. Taking the role of a welcoming old friend – and looking for all the Arda like he was - he reached for Fasse's hand, clasping it between his own. "Ah, Fasse, previously of Dunland, many years have passed since last we met. To you I owe the brunt of my sincerest apologies for all that you went through in that land you called your home."  
  
Fasse seemed to squirm under the attentions of his superior. Not at all did he like this warmth suddenly directed towards hi;, it felt scalding. It was out of place. Since their coming to the shores of Arda, Saruman had yet to show any kind of trust or liking towards him. He knew full well Saruman's disdain for him. Fasse was a failure; a mistake that by sheer accident was named one of the Istari, a hitch in the Song, a…Fasse winced as his conscience kicked his self-pity. Perhaps he was being a bit melodramatic, but Saruman certainly did not hold any affection toward him. In fact, the feeling was quite mutual. So why did Saruman suddenly regard him as a friend and ally and speak to him with such congeniality?  
  
"You must forgive my hasty discussion regarding your innocence, or lack there of as it was in my mind," Saruman continued. "My title did not suit me at that point." He lowered his voice to a direct tone; everything about his posture and voice seemed to convey sincere humility. Fasse could only shake his head in denial of any wrong done, silent, as if he had been struck dumb.  
  
"Let me make it up to you, old friend. Come, stay with me for the night, you and your friends," he nodded toward Fasse's two silent companions. "You all look travel weary and I know your bodies would do well with a night's rest in a real bed."  
  
Saruman's words were alluring; the prospect of a place to lay his head anywhere other than on the hard ground was enough to drive Fasse to distraction. But something held his tongue and he did not speak. Memories of Saruman's ill will towards him were not easily forgotten. Fasse felt his scalp prickle under the intense gaze of the wizened wizard.   
  
"Your offer is greatly appreciated," Aragorn began, relieving Fasse of further discomfort. Though whether the Ranger knew the relief he brought him, Fasse did not know. "However, we have already lingered too long and my companions and I would rather press on to our original destination in the stead of waylaying ourselves any longer." It was an honest reply, but honesty did not keep it from being anything less than an excuse. However, there was no reason to be rude to the wise wizard. Still, Aragorn felt no compulsion to set even one foot inside the threshold of the tower of Orthanc.   
  
Saruman looked on the man of the North, a look of unguarded intrigue hazed his face, his dark eyes fixated on the man. There was a moment where no words were spoken, where Saruman dragged his deep gaze over each man present. When again he spoke, it seemed to their ears the wizard's voice was even more suave and appealing. "But I must insist! Weary feet cannot carry their burden long; the time that you would save by delaying rest would be sapped when you collapse from exhaustion. Think of the good a night's rest would do you! You must reconsider."  
  
The host of horsemen, those still mounted and those standing near the burning pyre of the dead goblins watched without word. Did they not see the simple logic in his words? They gazed on the face of Saruman as men spellbound.  
  
At Aragorn's side, Fasse's eyes narrowed. He may not be the canniest of the Order, but he was not a mindless fool. Saruman was not dealing in honesty. He looked for assurance in the faces of Éomer and Aragorn, but they as well bore a look of uncertainty. Wavering between trust and distrust. But some did not hesitate as long as he in speaking their mind.  
  
Roheryn pranced backwards suddenly before lurching forward without warning, forcing his rider to a state of sharper awareness in order to keep himself from being toppled from his seat. Aragorn pulled the riled horse back before he had a chance to throw anymore unexpected moves. Roheryn had done him a great favor, and at that moment, during the span of a breath, he made a solid promise never to be so taken by the words of any man or creature that he lost control of his actions and the gift of reasoning.   
  
"As I said before, I'm afraid that we must decline and take our leave, _now._" Aragorn's voice was level, every nerve wary.   
  
  
Saruman had no choice but to retreat, to cover his tracks before he delved too far. Though his face was calm and portraying convincing regret, inwardly he seethed like the waters of the Belegar in the midst of a storm. What was it about this man that foiled him at every turn? What unseen forces protected him, guarding him with a shield hedging about him? It was by no mere case of good fortune that this man of unknown origin dodged his every advance.   
  
  
"Then if I have no chance of persuading you, then here we part – on good terms I hope?"   
  
Aragorn did not nod or give any gesture of confirmation. "We thank you for your generous offer; it is more than we deserve."  
  
The white wizard turned from him, slowly, as if peeling his attention from the Ranger. "Here I leave you also, Fasse, I trust that we may meet again?"  
  
The shaggy head of Fasse twitched in a motion that could not be identified as either a nod or a shake. He did not trust himself to speak.  
  
Black eyes turned on Éomer and his riders. The horseman did not bother covering his dislike for the wizard with any form of mask or smile. Still, Saruman spoke cordially to him. "Pray, remember that I will long be your people's friend and ally." There was a drop in the wizard's tone, subtly hinting admonishment. "I will remain watchful of the happenings in Rohan, for your better good mind you. I do not concern myself with things that are not worth my attention." A strange smile ghosted his lips; "Rohan is well worth my while."   
  
---

"Well that was, unexpected." Fasse concluded after a stretch of silence in the wake of Saruman's hasty departure. The travelers looked to each other, not at all sure what to make of the unsettling encounter.   
  
"Never-the-less," Aragorn began, drawing Roheryn closer to Éomer, "we should be out of these parts as soon as is permitted by our rescuer."  
  
Éomer raised a hand of good faith. "You, Thorongil, are free to pass through our lands at will. I see no need to detain you. However," he said with a slight smile, "it would appease my curiosity to know what brings an unknown wizard, an Elf, and the praised Thorongil of Gondor through Rohan?" Éomer queried and bade them at this time to ride with him from that place.   
  
Aragorn proceeded to reiterate as briefly as possible Fasse's extraction from Dunland and the events that had prompted such action. He went on to explain that they sought to find for Fasse a place where he would be protected from the unwanted attention of greater evils.   
  
"I can vouch for him," Aragorn continued, seeing the look of mistrust on Éomer's face. "I know the him well enough now to assure you that there is no deceit to be found in him."  
  
Éomer nodded in resignation, "I believe I can trust you, Thorongil, and if you say that he is of good will, then I have no choice but to believe you. In Rohan, your friend shall find safe harbor as long as I can offer it, or he will take it."  
  
"Again, I am indebted to you." Aragorn paused, smiling fondly at the wizard who rode behind them, chatting amiably with one of the riders. "You will find him good company."  
  
Éomer drew a breath, then let it escape him, allowing the tension that still lingered from their encounter with the wizard of Orthanc flee with it. "Then you will ride with us to Edoras, Thorongil? Your company would be an honor, and a pleasure," he added earnestly.   
  
Though he hid it well, Aragorn tensed. "I am afraid that I will have to decline your offer. As winter is already gnashing her teeth in anticipation of her hold, I would rather return from whence we came as soon as possible. Surely you understand my desire to return to familiar territory?" His voice was beginning to become dreadfully dull to his own ears. He had lost count how many times he had politely declined offers and invitations in this afternoon alone.  
  
Éomer nodded, but was not so easily dissuaded. "Will you at least make camp with us tonight? That way you will be able to start afresh in the morning and take from our own meager supplies what you need."  
  
No matter how eager Aragorn was to return to Imladris, he could not throw all caution to the wind and make back blindly for home like a barn-sour horse. There were others to think of beside himself. There was a point at which he must concede. "Thrice now, and counting, we are in your debt. We would gladly accept a nights rest amongst your riders." There was a wry look thrown Legolas's way. "Even Elves can be tiresome traveling companions."  
  
"And men are likewise!" laughed Legolas mirthfully, glad to see that all the diplomacy Aragorn had taken on today had not drained him of all humor.   
  
Éomer at last allowed a smile to creep to his lips. "Good then!" he exclaimed. "We will ride on for yet a while more as there is yet light in the sky, though it is a grey light."  
  
And so they did, the host of riders joined now by an Elf, a man, and a wizard. Fasse prattled gamely on, delighted to find a willing audience in some of the men. Retelling how he had single handedly rescued Thorongil and the Elf, Legolas, from certain death at the hands of the Dunlendings, inflating truth only at a few flattering points. He seemed quite at home, though Aragorn guessed it was more a result of being in the company of Elves for some weeks. Fasse hardly struck him as the type that would flourish in the habitat of the Elves.   
  
It was a time of reminiscence as Aragorn laid himself down that night, some hours later when the air was quiet and all that was to be heard were the sounds of the night and the shifting of horses' hooves. He remembered serving Thengel of Rohan and Ecthelion of Gondor, his days as Thorongil and the defeat of the Corsairs in Umbar… He had done so many things, met so many people – though usually under the name of one of his many alias's.   
  
He tucked his hands behind his head, catching the barely audible sound of Legolas's breath as he dreamt in the fashion of his people. Aragorn let a soft sight escape him, his feelings torn. For some sixty years he had wandered the wild, seeing things both hideous and beautiful. There were times he thought of his life as a book yet in the making, and with each new region that he left, or each battle won or lost, he felt as if a chapter had been completed.  
  
Something told him that the last sentences of this chapter were being written, even as abrupt an ending it seemed. Tomorrow, he sensed, had in store something new for him to undertake.   
  
**TBC…  
  
**_A/N: I apologize for the jerky chapter, but I'm afraid I wrote this one quite badly since I was doing it in paragraphs at the best. Time was in short supply on my end. I would, as always covet your comments, thoughts and ideas. Constructive criticism to help my writing improved is drooled over. Thanks for reading, you'll only have to suffer through one more chapter since as you have figured – only one more to go!  
  
Toodles,  
Bill_


	15. A Turn of the Page

-Shadows on the Snow- 

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters.

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild.

_____________

Shadows on the Snow

Part 15  
_____________  
  
Brooding clouds rolled back, unable to dam back the brilliant morning sun's golden glow. The snow glittered as if sprinkled with the dust of diamonds. Anar had triumphed, banishing the shadows to nether regions. At least for the present.   
  
Spirits were high. There was a steady thrum of lively conversation; horses tugged at their leads, feeling the warmth of the sun saturate their skin. It was to these sounds that Aragorn awoke to. They were sounds of life, life as a man of the land - his life.   
  
Pushing aside what meager bedding he had, he rose, shrugged into his jerkin, and returned the smile the sun shone on him. There was nothing like the sight of the sun after the disparaging company of gray skies. He looked 'round for his companions, finding only Fasse in the thick of an elaborate tale. He found it odd the grizzled wizard was conscious at such an early hour, but decided that Fasse was too much a lover of socializing to let even sleep deprive him of that rare pleasure. It did Aragorn's heart well to know how the old traveling companion would thrive with folk of like mind, not to say however that all folk were as eccentric as he.   
  
He was not alarmed that Legolas was not to be seen amidst the men. Upon further attention to detail, he saw that Falmarin was absent as well. Aragorn needn't gray a hair if Falmarin was with the Elf.   
  
"You slept well I trust?"   
  
Aragorn nodded, "Indeed I did, though I am a trifle surprised that I did not sleep longer."  
  
Éomer's lip twitched in a slight, knowing smile. He tipped his face to the sky, basking in the warmth the sun rained down on them. Though the weather had yet to turn as harsh as the lands Aragorn and his companions had traveled through, too many a cold, dark day had they seen without break from the drudgery. "Days like these are not made to linger in dreams. They are a gift meant to be enjoyed to the fullest, to be treasured. They have a way of wakening you so they may boast of their beauty."  
  
"Aye, I know of what you speak." He paused, pondering Éomer's comment. "But perhaps it is not out of vainness that the Day invites our eyes to see. I would rather think that the Day only wishes to share a gift from Ilúvatar."  
  
Éomer cast a glance at the man standing beside him. "Thorongil, I did not know you were such a philosopher! Not all men have such insight, or maybe they do but do not see the reason of using it."  
  
Though he smiled, Aragorn did not laugh at Éomer's slight jest. He did not speak idly of what he did not believe. _If all men would learn from their experiences throughout their lives, perhaps there would not be so much corruption._ Though he thought it, he did not speak it aloud. Now was not the time, nor the place for that discussion. It was time to leave these parts and set off back the way they had came.   
  
  
"H'oi! Thorongil, friend!" hailed Fasse with a wild waving of his hands. "What say you of this fine weather? A little nippy, but it is fine indeed! Nothing like a spot of sunshine. Now if only this snow would melt." He excused himself from his audience, floundering toward Aragorn and Éomer. "Deary, I say, you haven't see the Elf, have you?" He queried once he moved out of shouting range. By the look and mannerisms, apparently he hadn't noticed Legolas's absence before now. But Fasse was not known for his observance, nor his awareness of the present. Being the impulsive, self-explanatory character the he was, Fasse answered his own question. "Knowing him, he's probably out for a morning romp with that horse of his. Getting into all manners of trouble no doubt. I'll probably have to save him once again."  
  
Aragorn saw fit to shrug, as contradicting Fasse would only lead to a longer lecture on a certain Elf's flighty nature. However, a certain Elf was not so suave as to leave the matter be.   
  
"You needn't fret, friend Fasse, I managed to keep myself out of harm's way." Legolas' smile was as well hidden as Falmarin's obvious equine sneer – directed plainly at Fasse. "You won't have to trouble yourself with saving me from the hands of evil – for once."   
  
Fasse recovered remarkably well from his fright. If earlier, a grey muzzle had appeared at his shoulder, breathing into this ear, he would have undoubtedly squealed like a stuckWose then clung to the nearest person/object till the breath was squeezed from the unfortunate safe harbor, or in the case of an object, broken. Instead he dubbed Legolas, "Impudent."  
  
Legolas nodded to Éomer, then to Aragorn, acknowledging their presence. His eyes lingered on the latter, "Some of the Rohirrim – those who were awake to greet the coming of dawn - have already assisted me in packing supplies for our journey home." He motioned to a side of the camp where a sizeable mound of packs were prepared. "I assumed that you would wish to have an early start."   
  
Aragorn wondered then if perhaps Legolas was not suffering from some unexpected relapse. "You assumed correctly, but it will take more than our three horses to bear it all. The Rohirrim have been too generous I'm afraid."  
  
Legolas winced, pulling Aragorn to the side, casting an uncertain glance at Fasse. "Tamper your words, friend. I am not so green that I do not realize that." He lowered his voice. "Those extra packs are for the case in which Gorban joins us."  
  
Realization dawned on him, bringing with it a mental slap inflicted by his own will. He had forgotten Gorban's initial reluctance to leave the green haven of Imladris, not to mention a certain Elven twin. "That, element, had slipped my mind."  
  
"Forget my donkey? The blasphemy!" Fasse proved that his hearing was not so weak after all. There was a communal grimace from both Elf and man. "Perhaps I shouldn't trust him with you two young upstarts after all. We had all this worked out," Fasse leaned an elbow on the ridge of Gorban's neck, indignation shown by the color red on his face. "But now I'm not so inclined to leave him in your care."   
  
If at all possible, Gorban growled, not looking kindly on Fasse's mothering. He was a donkey, and a free one at that! He didn't need the shaggy, two-legged creature to tell him with whom he could associate. His long ears swept back, giving Fasse a clear idea of his disposition. Fasse plugged his ears with the ends of his overgrown bush of a beard, bracing himself against the wrath of Gorban that came delivered in a painful rain of braying and hawing. Heads turned, ears were covered protectively and some even cursed the donkey's vocal chords.   
  
Once Gorban had assured himself that Fasse was fittingly scolded, the wizard – much more demure – urged the grey beast to do as he wished. He nearly slipped by offering his permission – a sure sign of control – but caught himself before Gorban had cause to give him a second lecture.   
  
But no matter how much either one toyed with the façade of indifference, they wished each other the best. It was for that reason that Fasse, when all was argued thin, counseled Gorban to return to the green haven of Imladris and make for himself an easier life with the horses of the Elves.  
  
"They will be a good influence on you no doubt, perhaps you will even start a new line of Elvish bred mules."  
  
---  
  
Legolas tightened the last strap, securing the last of the packs to the gloomy donkey's back. He straightened, looking to where Aragorn and Fasse were moving towards him. It took little effort to overhear their unconcealed words.   
  
Fasse's expression was considerably longer than it had been earlier. "So this is goodbye I suppose," Fasse shrugged, twisting a matted knot in his beard.   
  
"Aye, it would appear that way. You knew it had to come sometime," Aragorn reminded, gently.   
  
Fasse gnawed nervously on the knot of grizzled hair, his posture hinting of an unasked question. "Will we be hearing anything about you from Gondor anytime in the foreseeable future, friend Thorongil?" Legolas heard Fasse query, drawing out Aragorn's alias suggestively.   
  
Aragorn halted, his eyes growing lost as he looked out over the white plains. Both Legolas and Fasse watched Aragorn's face closely, waiting for a reaction, any reaction.

"I do not know what the future holds, years, months, weeks, or even days from now," Aragorn began, eyes focused on nothing but the invisible, "for Middle-earth, or even myself. Foresight is not my gift. I'd be a fool to say it was." He laughed abstractly, tearing his attention back to the present. "But there is a measure of destiny in life, I believe in that with all my heart. Of course I know what I would like my future to hold," he laughed again before sobering, "but I do not hold the future in my hands to be turned this way or that as it pleases me."   
  
Legolas smiled, releasing a breath he did not know he had held. His suspicions were verified. Aragorn had changed over these few weeks, in a way that only a chosen man of Eru could.   
  
Roheryn bobbed his head in greeting to his rider, whickering his appreciation for the hard scrub on the neck Aragorn offered him in passing. "Is all ready, Legolas?"   
  
Legolas paused, running a mental checklist before nodding affirmative. "Gorban has been more than sufficiently packed, Nienna also, and all have been fed and watered." 

Éomer held Roheryn's reins as Aragorn mounted, "You are sure you do not wish to accompany us and your friend back to Edoras, though I cannot promise a warm welcome?"   
  
Taking the reins from Éomer with a nod of thanks, Aragorn declined. "The air is right for traveling, we can waste no time in returning to safer harbor." Leaning from the saddle, Aragorn clasped hands with the man of Rohan. "So here is where I express my gratitude once again and bid you farewell 'til a later day."  
  
Éomer gripped the ranger's hand firmly, eyes twinkling with youthful exuberance. "And I pray that we will meet again, sooner than later preferably."

Leaning closer, Aragorn lowered his voice, "But do keep an eye or two on that wizard of mine, he's a spirited fellow. You never know what he will get you into." 

Éomer laughed, then backed away. Legolas, mounted on Falmarin, joined Aragorn with Nienna and Gorban tottering close behind. "I do hope that there is no ill will at our parting, Master Elf."   
  
"Nay, friend, the foolish brashness was on my part and I hope as well that we part comrades," Legolas confessed.   
  
Éomer had no chance to reply for Fasse butted in with his usual grace and poise. "Brashness, you do seem to have a plethora of that certain characteristic Master Elf. And no short supply of foolishness either. Same goes for that beast of yours!" Fasse slapped Falmarin's flank, unwittingly startling the horse. Falmarin's tail whisked out faster than the eye could track, landing a stinging swat to Fasse's rump.   
  
Legolas resisted the urge to roll his eyes to the heavens and beg for deliverance. Instead he leaned from Falmarin's back, gripping Fasse's hand between both of his. "Fair winds on the remainder of your journey, wherever it may lead you. It has been an eye opening adventure, one I will not be prone to forget too soon." He smiled, patting Fasse's shoulder.   
  
  
Their good-byes said, their task done and with their eyes looking northward, Elf and man rode from the company of the Rohirrim. It was time to be off on the road home.   
  
---  
  
With the sun as their faithful companion by day and the moon and the stars their guardian by night, the travelers passed through wood and vale without a hindrance save for the one instance where Gorban sunk into a snow drift disguising a hole. It was a blessed time. Their cares lifted from them, breezed away like chaff.   
  
Now here they were, back among familiar trees – familiar still despite the dress of winter – venturing into the last leg of their journey. Roheryn's ears were pricked, picking up the excitement from Falmarin and Nienna.   
  
"Can you not wipe that foolish grin off your face, Strider?"   
  
Aragorn subconsciously attempted to plaster a badly constructed emotionless expression onto his face. "What grin?"  
  
Legolas shook his head with a faint smile, "You truly are an awful liar."  
  
"I'll ignore that." The man thumbed the worn leather of his reins, half in embarrassment, half out of habit. "So will you be returning to Mirkwood immediately or – " 

Without warning, a massive shadow passed over them, followed by a burst of wind. Gorban brayed in alarm while Nienna back peddled, tugging on her lead in fright. Legolas's head shot up, searching for whom, or what, threatened them. A cry rent the air, breaking the stillness of the wood. Long and keening, it seemed to make the trees shake.   
  
"Eagles, Aragorn!"  
  
Roheryn lurched back as a massive bird of incredible wingspan landed with surprising grace in their path. His eyes were golden and his feathers shone like polished copper mixed with earthy brown. Then he spoke, "Friends of Gandalf, I am Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles of the Misty Mountains." Glittering eyes fixed on both Elf and man, "I have been sent on behalf of Gandalf, whom even now waits for me to bring to him the man, Aragorn."  
  
Aragorn's brow furrowed, feeling Legolas's eyes on him he gave a gesture of ignorance. "For what does he call me?" Something in his gut knotted, dreading news of some disaster in Rivendell. "Has something happened?"   
  
Gwaihir, as if reading the man's worry, put to rest his fears. "Imladris is yet a haven, but I am not at liberty to disclose anymore.  
  
Aragorn shifted uneasily in the saddle, not at all appreciating Gandalf's cryptic ways. "Where am I to find him?"  
  
The Eagle settled his wings closer against his body. "I will take you to him, he has called for speed in this matter."   
  
"But what of Legolas? Should I not accompany him back to Imladris?"  
  
Legolas shook his head, "You needn't be concerned, I will accompany the horses back to Imladris, we are only a day away as it is. I am at as much at a loss as you. But when Mithrander beckons, it is best to obey."  
  
Aragorn had already dismounted. He handed the reins to Legolas, "Then this is where we part paths, friend."   
  
The Elf grasped his hand, "Be safe, Estel. In the words of Fasse, I do not wish to rescue your hide anymore. Give me no need too."  
  
Smiling, Aragorn unbuckled his packs from Roheryn's saddle, slinging them over his shoulder, not sure if he would have use for them or not but preferring to take the precaution. "You know me, caution is my middle name."  
  
"Wonderful, Strider, another name for me to remember."   
  
Aragorn gave a roguish wave and climbed onto Gwaihir's broad back. Legolas raised his hand in parting, watching the Eagle spread his wings. Slowly, the bird lifted into the air, gracefully maneuvering between the boughs of the trees.   
  
Then they were gone.  
  
Legolas was left alone with the horses in the stillness of the wood, musing over the event that had just taken place. He would push on to Imladris, report to Elrond of the happenings, and from there return to his home in Mirkwood. His immediate future was decided, but for Aragorn…  
  
Life would be changing for him, it was already changing. Responsibilities and tasks would be placed on him that would try his will and test his maturity. He was a man, Legolas reminded himself. Estel was not a child. He was well traveled and knew the land. It was time for Legolas to step back. To aid where he could, to help when he might.   
  
Aragorn was stepping into the next chapter of his life well prepared.  
  
And so on a different path, Legolas rode on to face what would come.   
  


****

Epilogue:  
  
"…In the year 3009 Gandalf and Aragorn renewed their hunt for Gollum at intervals over the next eight years, searching in the vales of Anduin, Mirkwood, and Rhovanion to the dark confines of Mordor. At some time during these years, Gollum himself ventured into Mordor and was captured by Sauron.   
  
"But in the year 3017 Gollum is released from Mordor then is taken by Aragorn in the Dead Marshes, and brought to the hall of Thranduil in Mirkwood."  
  
The grey head bobbed up and down in a motion of closure. His pen stopped its scratching and was laid to rest at the side of the stack of parchment. Lips moved behind a shower of grizzled hair. "And the rest – as some would say – is history," he murmured, not to anyone unparticular.   
  
Fasse removed his cap, scratching a phantom itch. Weathered hands patted the edges of the parchment, squaring the stack, then laid it carefully back on the oak desk. He stared at it, reminiscing, feeling a great weight removed from his shoulders. The task was finally finished, the story would not be lost now, it would be frozen, remembered forever until the end came on the face of these pages.   
  
Yes, he thought, tomorrow he would have it bound and the original copy placed among Gondor's chronicles. Then a copy would be made and sent to Ithilien. But first…Fasse gathered the pages back up, pressing them tightly to his chest. Standing stiffly, the wizard moved from behind the desk to the door, basking for a moment in the warm sun pouring through his window and over all Gondor. First he would take it to King Elessar.   
  
**END  
  
**_A/N: Hey Fellows! Well it's done. I'm happy, you're happy, let's have a cake. Hmm, never mind that, it's too expensive.  
  
But let me at the end of all this thank everyone for their help. I can't name everyone, as for one there are too many of you, but especially to** 'e' **who up to the last was my tick under the skin – heh – bugging me to finish this thing up. It helped, you can't imagine how much. To YunaDax, Larus – who I must say cracks me up – Legilmalith, The Insane One, and everyone else! You guys are the best!  
  
I have one more request though. I have had people asking me to let them know when I update, or post anything. I am more than willing to do that, but if you would like me to, give me your email address, or a place where I can find it. I'll work up a list, and just do a mass email to those interested.  
  
Toodles, until the next fic!  
Bill_


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